Writer's block
by j3of25
Summary: Jesse's fledgling writing career has deadly consequences and there's danger for everyone involved. Story complete (Epilogue added.)
1. Default Chapter

Synopsis:- There are deadly consequences when Jesse decides to pursue his writing career and I suppose since I'm writing it Steve and Jesse are both in danger of getting a little bruised at some point.  
  
Writer's Block  
  
Jesse opened his laptop and logged on to the Internet. He had half an hour of his lunch break left and just had time to check his messages. As he opened his e-mail, he felt a buzz of anticipation, would anyone have read it? Would they like it? He hadn't realised when he'd first started this that other people's opinions could have such an effect on his ego, elation when people said they liked it, bordering on depression when people said they didn't. Not the constructive criticism, he could handle that. The 'why don't you.. because I think this would make a good story even better' was OK, but he'd had one review that just said it was a 'poor story' nothing else and he'd spent the whole day trying to figure out why this person didn't like it.  
  
Jesse had known for a while that he liked to write, ever since he'd been involved in the scripts for the ill-fated 'Dr. Danger' TV series, but he had only recently discovered the on-line fan fiction community and had decided to give it a go. He had written his story about 'ER' he figured he should start with something he knew about, besides he knew how to make it realistic. Inevitably, however, his take on the goings on in an ER department, involved the whole cast getting involved in solving a murder that happened in one of the Trauma rooms. After all, that was something else he knew about.  
  
So he tentatively opened up his e-mail and was delighted to find that he had four reviews of his story. Four people had taken the time and trouble to say something. The feeling of elation returned. He opened the first and read it savouring every word of the short pronouncement. "Really enjoying this, can't wait for more!" Jesse's characteristic grin spread wider over his face.  
  
"Somebody likes it!" he said, not realising that he had spoken out loud until a young nurse who was fixing herself some coffee turned and spoke.  
  
"Dr. Travis?" she said questioningly, thinking he may have spoken to her.  
  
He looked up still grinning. "What, oh, nothing, just talking to myself."  
  
"First sign of madness you know," she said, smiling back, Jesse's grin always was infectious.  
  
"I know and at the last count I exhibited seventeen other signs too." Jesse replied.  
  
"Then I'd better get out of here in case it's infectious," the nurse said, retreating through the door still grinning. She was so busy looking back at the young doctor that she bumped into the man coming the other way spilling hot coffee all the way down his jacket.  
  
"Oh I'm so sorry," she said, apologetically, "Here let me help you clean up."  
  
Steve grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping himself down. He looked up at the predictably young, attractive, blonde woman who'd just scolded him. Were there just a lot of accident prone pretty blondes in LA or did he attract them. "I'm fine," he said, rubbing the tender skin on his hand, grateful that most of the coffee had landed on his leather jacket.  
  
"No you're not. I'll get you an ice pack," the nurse said and disappeared  
  
He moved over to join his friend. "Hey Jess," he said taking a seat.  
  
"Do you want me to take a look at that," Jess nodded at his hand, he had watched the whole interaction.  
  
"No it'll be OK," Steve replied, gratefully taking the ice pack from the nurse who had returned with it. He wrapped it around the damaged skin. "Thanks," he said to her.  
  
"You're welcome," she said, flashing him the same smile she'd just given Jesse. "You know if it's still hurting later, my shift finishes at eight," she continued suggestively.  
  
"I'll be sure to remember that," Steve replied, cautiously, all he needed was a date with another disaster prone woman. Still he couldn't help appreciating the curves of her uniform as she exited the room, his head tilting slightly to appreciate the view. How did she manage that wiggle as she walked? As she left, he turned and realised that Jesse had his head tilted at the same angle. Jesse caught the look and hastily both men sat upright.  
  
"Hey I think you have a date there," Jesse said teasingly. "Nurse Johnson seems to like you."  
  
Steve eyebrows furrowed for a minute. "Nurse Johnson, my dad told me about her. Isn't she the one who blocked the sinks and left the taps on, flooding the OR,"  
  
Jesse nodded.  
  
"And," Steve continued, "Didn't she catch a sheet when she was in charge of the drugs trolley and end up littering the entire corridor with medication?"  
  
"Yeah," Jesse nodded again. "Took us four hours to identify all of the different pills by their colour and size so that we could check the inventory." He smiled mischievously. "So you see, beautiful, accident prone, she's perfect for you."  
  
Steve shook his head, grimacing. "Oh no, that's one date that's never going to happen." He looked at his young friend's computer. "So what are you up to?" He asked, changing the subject.  
  
Jesse looked at the computer. "Oh nothing, just checking my e-mail," Jesse said, the grin returning as he spotted the nice review that was still on the screen.  
  
"Something nice?" Steve asked. "Or someone nice?"  
  
Jesse was momentarily distracted as he clicked onto the next message. "What.. oh no nothing like that." His smile broadened again as he read 'Loving it. Please write more.'  
  
Steve was used to his young friend smiling, he seemed to smile at everything but there was pure joy in his expression at the moment. His e- mail must really have good news in it. "So would you care to share?" He asked.  
  
"Hmm, oh it's nothing really," Jesse replied turning to look at his friend.  
  
"OK fine, if you don't want to talk about it," Steve replied, unable to hide the disappointment in his tone. He really wanted to know what was making his friend so happy.  
  
"You really want to know?" Jesse asked, he was a little nervous about telling the people around him what he was doing in case they thought he was foolish, but he couldn't take the disappointed look on his friend's face.  
  
Steve nodded. "But only if you want to tell me."  
  
"Well.." Jesse began hesitantly and proceeded to explain the concept of fan fiction and his writing to his friend. "So you see I just got these two really nice reviews and I can't tell you how good it feels to have total strangers take the time to write nice things about what I've written." Jesse watched his friend's expression. "You think it's stupid don't you."  
  
Steve smiled at his friend. "No, as a matter of fact I think it's great that you've found something that you enjoy doing so much. We all need a release for our creativity." Steve regarded his friend, his head on one side, deciding that he would share something about himself. "Bet you didn't know that I paint."  
  
Jesse looked at his friend the cop, finding it hard to picture Steve at an easel. "Well I know that Mark dabbles."  
  
"Well I do too, I'm not very good, which is how come I don't tell many people about it, but I really enjoy it. You should never be embarrassed about something you enjoy."  
  
"Then how come I didn't know.."  
  
"About the painting?" Steve finished for him. "Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean that I'm embarrassed by it." He looked across at his friend. "So, if it's a murder mystery can I read it sometime?" he asked.  
  
"You really want to?" Jesse asked.  
  
"Sure," Steve replied, pleased at the expression of pleasure that crossed over his young friend's features. He got up to get himself a coffee. By the time he came to sit down again Jesse's expression had completely changed. He looked positively crestfallen. "What's the matter Jess?" Steve asked concerned by the sudden change in his friend.  
  
"Nothing," Jesse said his voice flat.  
  
"It's not nothing, what is it?" When Jesse did not answer he turned the computer to face him and read the screen. 'This is the worst story I've ever read. My advice -give up writing.' It took a moment to realise that this review was what had altered his friend's mood. He didn't quite understand it but remembering the positive effect the good review had had, he guessed that it would be quite easy for this to have the opposite effect, and it was quite vitriolic in tone.  
  
"Well looks like that's my writing career over."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Steve asked. "It's only one bad review."  
  
"No," Jesse said, hitting the back button.  
  
Steve read, 'This is the most ridiculous plot I've seen- unrealistic.' He looked at his friend. "OK two bad reviews, but I thought you said you had lot's of positive feedback too."  
  
"There's another one like that as well," Jesse said somehow only able to focus on the negative. What was wrong with it? Why didn't people like it? Was there something wrong with his plot or was it, as he had expected all along, that he was just no good at writing?  
  
"Jess," Steve raised his voice as he tried to pull is friend out of his musings. Jesse looked at him "I asked you how many positive reviews you'd had?"  
  
Jesse mentally counted them up. "Oh about fifteen and two e-mails." he replied. He'd known all along that it was a ridiculous idea, English had been his worst subject in high school, spelling was never his strong point. What made him think that he could write.  
  
"Then you've had far more positive than negative." Steve tried.  
  
"Yes but those people were just being kind," Jesse said, his own insecurities feeding what he was saying.  
  
"And the people who wrote the bad reviews were the ones who were being honest?" Steve asked, seeing where this was going.  
  
Jesse nodded.  
  
"Let me read it," Steve said  
  
"Steve you don't have to."  
  
"Let me read it and I'll give you an honest opinion on it." Steve stated firmly, he couldn't let Jesse give up something he so obviously enjoyed doing, so easily, but he knew himself how easily an ego could be dented, probably why he didn't show people his paintings.  
  
"You're sure?" Jesse asked still a little uncertain.  
  
"Sure about what?" a familiar female voice asked from behind.  
  
Both men turned to see Mark and Amanda who had come over to join them.  
  
"I'm trying to persuade Jesse to let me read his story." Steve replied.  
  
Jesse shot Steve a look of daggers. He hadn't really wanted to tell Mark and Amanda about his writing, afraid as with Steve, that they would consider it to be foolish.  
  
"Oh I would, it's very good." Mark said.  
  
Jesse turned to look at his mentor more than a little shocked. "You.. you've read it?" he asked slightly incredulously.  
  
"Oh yes," Mark said, "and I think about half of the hospital staff are following it. I've recommended it to lots of people."  
  
"But.. but how?" Jesse asked, trying to get his head around the fact that his secret pastime wasn't a secret.  
  
"Jesse," Mark said, smiling at his young colleagues' bemusement. "You posted one of the chapters from the computer in my office and didn't log off when you'd finished." Mark explained. "And I think the pen name Dishydoc. suits you by the way."  
  
Jesse blushed crimson. The pen name had been a joke. He never intended anyone to find out that it was him. "I er.. er.." he stuttered.  
  
"Mark stop teasing him," Amanda said, "But I agree, it's really intriguing so far."  
  
"Good," Steve said, "Then perhaps you can persuade him not to give up writing it."  
  
"You were going to give up? Why?" Mark asked.  
  
When Jesse did not answer him Steve filled in. "Because he's received some really unpleasant feedback in amongst all of the positive stuff."  
  
"It's not just that," Jesse said defensively. "It was a foolish idea me thinking I could write- my grammar's lousy and I can't spell..."  
  
"But that's not important Jess," Amanda replied, "It's a good story. Don't tell me I'm never going to find out how it ends"  
  
Jesse's reply was interrupted by both Steve and Amanda's pagers going off. Amanda used the hospital phone whilst Steve used his cell. They both hung up at the same time.  
  
"A new case?" Mark asked  
  
"Yep," Steve replied grimly. "A homicide."  
  
"Here in the ER" Amanda completed for him and the four friends wasted no time heading down there.  
  
The moment Jesse walked into the trauma room he paled and leant back against the door frame. Mark and Amanda spotted it too. Amanda moved over to the body to confirm her suspicions, whilst Mark watched Jesse's reactions.  
  
"Amanda?" Jesse asked not having to verbalise the rest of the question.  
  
"I'm afraid so Jess," she replied. "Looks like he was hit over the head and then given a massive shock with the defibrillator ."  
  
"Oh no," Jesse said sinking back further onto the wall.  
  
Steve realised he was out of the loop. "Does one of you three want to explain to me what's going on?"  
  
"This entire crime scene is lifted straight from Jesse's story," Mark explained, "Including the way the victim was killed."  
  
Steve stared from his father to Jesse and then back again. "Are you saying someone has killed somebody by copying what Jesse has written?" he asked not quite able to believe it.  
  
"Right down to the red scarf left on the floor." Jesse said, his voice shaking slightly as he pointed at the red piece of silk left by the gurney. 


	2. Plot? What plot?

Author's note:- Apologies to those of you following Aftermath but bits of this story keep whizzing round my head like very annoying flies buzzing around the room on a Summer's day, so I just had to write some more. Hope you like it, I'm trying something new here so please let me know what you think.  
  
Part 2 Plot? What Plot?  
  
Moving to point at the red scarf, had brought Jesse closer to the body and he gasped as he recognised Paul Peterson, one of the hospital porters. In his story the victim had also been a porter. He stared for a few moments more, before turning abruptly, as he tried to deal with the mixture of emotions that assaulted him.  
  
There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that this was the scene he had described in his story, there hadn't been from the moment he had entered the trauma room. The fact that the victim was one of the hospital porters only reinforced what he already knew, and that could only mean that Peterson had been killed because of him, because of what he had written. The sense of guilt was almost overwhelming.  
  
Mark watched his young friend as the emotions played across his face, concerned at his shocked pale complexion, he opened his mouth to say something. He knew that given the circumstances, Jesse would blame himself for this, despite the fact that he could in no way be held responsible for it. "Jess," he began.  
  
Jesse was staring at the floor, he did not look up, even at the use of his name. "I.. I.. I'm sorry," he stammered and rushed form the room.  
  
Steve broke off the conversation he was having into his cell phone to watch as his friend left, he exchanged a meaningful look with his father, who then hurried after the young doctor.  
  
Jesse had made it as far as the opposite side of the hall. He knew that he couldn't stay in the room any longer but once he was outside, he really didn't know where to go. He was still trying to make up his mind when Mark caught up to him. He felt the hand on his shoulder as he heard the familiar tones of his mentor. "Jess," Mark said, the concern evident, "Are you all right?" He asked, knowing that the answer was no, but needing a place to start to get the young doctor talking.  
  
This time Jesse turned to look at him. "Yes. no," he replied, the confusion evident even without the words. "I mean I.." he looked into Mark's eyes. "That man in there is dead because of me."  
  
"Now come on Jess," Mark returned his gaze. "We don't know that, just because it seems to fit what you wrote in your story, doesn't mean that you are responsible. It could all be a coincidence.."  
  
"No," Jesse interrupted slightly more sharply than he'd intended. He leant back against the wall and stared at the floor, letting out a long slow breath to try to calm himself. He looked back up. "you and Amanda spotted it immediately as well. It's just too close to be a coincidence."  
  
Reluctantly Mark nodded, he had hoped that Jesse would accept his reassurances at face value but he had known even as he said it that it was unlikely. Jesse was too astute for that. The young doctor was staring at the floor again, as though gazing at it would give him some sort of comfort.  
  
"All right," Mark conceded, "but even if it isn't a coincidence, there is still nothing you can be held responsible for. If someone has used your story..."  
  
Jesse reacted to the word 'if' "Mark, someone has used it and because of it they've killed someone and."  
  
"And it's still not your fault." Mark stated, more firmly this time.  
  
Jesse thought about Mark's statement, but, however he looked at it, he couldn't get past the guilt. He nodded towards the trauma room door. "Try telling Peterson that," he said pushing himself off the wall. "I need to get some coffee," he added walking off towrds the doctor's lounge.  
  
Mark watched him leave. He considered following him but knew that speaking to him wouldn't do any good at the moment. Jesse had been clearly shocked by the events and needed time to think things through, besides, Mark needed his own time for consideration of what to say.  
  
  
  
Mark was still standing in the hallway a few minutes later, deep in thought, when Steve joined him. "Dad?"  
  
Mark turned as the familiar voice broke his train of thought, and gave his son an acknowledging smile.  
  
"OK, the crime scene team are here and I've got a couple of officers interviewing the staff to see if anyone saw anything." Steve said closing his notebook and putting it in his pocket.  
  
Mark looked at his son. "Tell me, who found the body?"  
  
"That was Dr. Collins, he was." Steve began.  
  
"Paged to come to the Trauma room, presumably by the killer." Mark finished for him.  
  
"That's what happened in Jess' story?" Steve asked.  
  
"Different name, but one of the ER doctors," Mark replied, "so, yes."  
  
Steve looked around. "Do you know where Jess went?" He asked. "I need to ask him a few questions about this story of his."  
  
"He went to the doctor's lounge," Mark replied, "but can't this wait, he's pretty shaken up at the moment."  
  
"I know," Steve said sympathetically, "but there may be something in his story that we can use to help catch whoever did this, so the sooner I get to read it the better." Steve did not question that the murder and Jesse's story were related. Simply the reactions of his friends and his father had been enough to convince him.  
  
They found Jesse sitting at one of the tables staring vacantly at the wall. He had a mug of coffee in his hand but wasn't drinking. "Jess," Steve said gently, attracting the young doctor's attention. "I was.."  
  
He got no further, as at that moment the alarm that signalled a major incident interrupted him.  
  
Jesse stood as all available staff were called to the ER. He looked apologetically at Steve. "Whatever it is it's going to have to wait," he said as he headed for the door with Mark moments ahead of him.  
  
"What have we got?" Mark asked one of the nurses, as Amanda emerged from the trauma room to join them.  
  
"Some sort of gas explosion in a local diner," the nurse replied, "We've got four severe trauma cases on the way in, with more to follow."  
  
This time when all the colour drained from Jesse's face there was no one watching to see it. Mark and Amanda were in front of him and he had his back to Steve, who had followed them from the lounge.  
  
Steve did, however, see his knees start to buckle and just heard the barely audible "Oh God!" that Jesse uttered before he fell. He moved in to catch his friend.  
  
"Dad," Steve called urgently and both Mark and Amanda were instantly at Jesse's side.  
  
"Let's get him back into the doctor's lounge," Mark said, helping to support him as they moved back in the direction they had come .  
  
Jesse had felt himself begin to fall as the implications of the nurses words hit him, more people injured, possibly dead. A myriad of thoughts feelings and emotions had assaulted his mind and, overwhelmed, it had simply shut down.  
  
He became vaguely aware of the movement first, of strong hands supporting him as he was half carried back to the lounge, then of voices and lights but his brain still wasn't processing the sensory input properly. It was like viewing the world around through a giant kaliedoscope.  
  
"Something else from his story?" Steve asked as he helped his friend to rest back on the couch.  
  
"Yes," Amanda replied as Mark gave Jesse a quick examination. "The murder investigation is interrupted when the ER has to deal with a major incident."  
  
"Let me guess," Steve said with a growing sense of unease, "a gas explosion in a diner."  
  
Amanda nodded grimly.  
  
Steve looked sympathetically down at his friend, like the murder scene, it was all too much to be coincidence and Steve knew that Jesse would feel responsible for what was happening.  
  
"He's fine he just fainted," Mark pronounced, looking up at his son. "Steve could you stay with him? Amanda and I need to get back to the ER, especially since we're one trauma room down."  
  
"Sure," Steve said, sitting down. "I'll look after him."  
  
Mark nodded gratefully and he and Amanda hurried off.  
  
It took another couple of minutes before Jesse's eyes focused on the concerned face of his best friend. "Steve, what.." he said, moving forward and regretting it as the world shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"Hey take it easy," Steve said, grabbing his shoulder to steady him. "It's OK you just lost it there for a moment, just take a few deep breaths."  
  
Jesse breathed in deeply. "Hey, who's the doctor here?" he asked smiling.  
  
"You are," Steve admitted, "But I'm not the one who just fainted."  
  
"Fainted?" Jesse repeated his brow creasing in confusion. "What on earth made me.." and then the crushing reality of the situation returned "Oh," he finished quietly. He took a moment before he turned to look Steve in the eye. "How long was I out?"  
  
"Just a couple of minutes," Steve replied, watching his friend carefully, grateful that some of the colour was starting to return to his cheeks.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jesse began, feeling the need to apologise. Fainting just wasn't something that grown men did. "It's just the gas explosion it's.." he continued, clearly agitated.  
  
"I know, it's another element of your story," Steve interrupted, keeping his voice calm, "Dad told me, and you have nothing to apologise for, all of this must come as quite a shock."  
  
Jesse nodded, and then began to move forward as a more urgent thought came to him. " I've got to get to the ER," he said attempting to stand.  
  
"Hey, you're in no condition.." Steve began, by this time Jesse had made it, somewhat shakily to his feet and he stood for a few moments consolidating his balance. Steve stood up next to him, ready to catch him if he should fall again."  
  
"I'll be fine," Jesse said, forcing a smile, "and I'm needed out there."  
  
"The last thing they need is a doctor who might keel over at any minute, possibly in the middle of treating a patient," Steve argued.  
  
"It's OK. I'm not going to faint again," Jesse said, determindly and headed for the door, feeling steadier with each pace. When he reached the doorway, he turned and smiled, this time it wasn't forced. "Trust me I'm a doctor," he said, before disappearing into the corridor beyond.  
  
Steve stood and followed at a discrete distance, watching his friend closely as he moved to greet the gurney from an incoming ambulance. Jesse listened to the paramedics as they filled him in on the patient's condition and then rattled off a list of instructions, before moving to meet a second gurney. Steve was amazed by his resilience. If he hadn't seen it for himself, watching the young doctor at work now, he would have been hard pressed to believe that he had received a major shock only a few minutes ago.  
  
Satisfied that his friend was indeed going to be all right, at least whilst the current crisis kept him busy, Steve headed for his car. He had an urgent need to establish whether or not the explosion at the diner was an accident; a bizarre coincidence, or something more sinister.  
  
  
  
It was two hours before Steve made it back to the hospital, by that time the ER was clear of patients from the incident. Trauma 2 was still taped off but the body had been removed and the forensics teams had left. Steve found his father sitting with Jesse in the doctor's lounge.  
  
The three men greeted each other with a comfortable familiarity.  
  
"I've just been out to the diner to see what I could find out," Steve explained as he took a seat.  
  
"And?" Mark asked.  
  
"Definitely no accident, an incendiary device was rigged to one of the pipes in the kitchen. Remote detonation, triggered by a cell phone."  
  
"Well at least that's something that's different from what I wrote," Jesse said, an uncharacteristically bitter tone in his voice. "The diner explosion in the story really is an accident."  
  
"I know Jess," Steve said cautiously. He really didn't want to upset his friend, but if they were going to get to the bottom of this, there were questions that needed to be asked and realities that had to be faced. "But the timing is just too big a coincidence to be ignored. I really need to get a look at what you've written."  
  
Jesse stood. "It's all on my laptop," he said, "I left it upstairs."  
  
"Is there anything else that's about to happen, that I should know about?" Steve asked as they walked.  
  
"No," Jesse said thoughtfully, "At least not for a while. The next thing that happens is the police arrive and start interviewing everyone, then they get the results of the autopsy. It's not until the following day before.." his voice tailed off. He took a deep breath, "Before the second body is discovered," he completed quietly and stepped into the elevator that had just arrived.  
  
Steve looked at him, he really needed more information but this was clearly so hard on his friend, he didn't like to pressure him. He opened his mouth to ask for more details but Mark interrupted.  
  
"The second victim is a nurse, age 25 blonde hair, blue eyes, works in the ER," he said. "She's found in the supply room when the new shift starts in the morning."  
  
"What time does the morning shift take over here?" Steve asked.  
  
"6 a.m." Mark replied.  
  
Steve looked at his watch, it was coming up on 5.30. "So we've got a little over twelve hours to find whoever is doing this and stop them before."  
  
"Before I get someone else killed," Jesse completed, the distress and bitterness all too clear. They had reached their floor and he strode purposefully from the elevator, not really caring if the others were with him or not.  
  
Steve and Mark were not quite so quick to react to the opening doors and it took them a moment to catch him up.  
  
"Jess," Steve tried to comfort his friend, "Whoever's doing this, whatever their reasons, you just wrote a story it's not."  
  
Jesse stopped and rounded on his friend. "What? Not my fault?" Jesse shouted the words, letting out some of the emotions that he had suppressed for the last two hours as he had dealt with the victims from the explosion. An explosion that wouldn't have happened if he hadn't written about it. "Then who's fault is it? Two people are dead, four more are in intensive care and there are thirty other people recieving treatment." His voice quietened, anger replaced with guilt. "Who's fault is that?"  
  
Steve met his gaze, did not react to his friend's angry outburst, he just waited until he had finished. "It's the fault of whoever set the bomb Jess," he said, calmly, quietly "and no one else's."  
  
Jesse let his shoulder's drop, deep down he knew Steve was right, knew Mark had been right when he had told him the same thing earlier, but somehow, knowing that he wasn't at fault was doing little to assuage the feelings of guilt and responsibility. Unable to look into his friend's eyes any longer, his gaze dropped back to the floor.  
  
Steve waited a few moments more before putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Come on, let's go get this lap top of yours."  
  
Jesse nodded and they began to move down the corridor again.  
  
Mark followed, he continued to watch Jesse's reactions, deeply concerned at the effect this was having on the young man that he viewed as a second son. He had decided not to interfere, letting Steve handle it, allowing him to reinforce what he had told Jesse earlier, sometimes just being there was enough.  
  
The three men entered the doctor's lounge together and Jesse moved over to one of the tables. He began searching around. "I left it right here," he said, pointing at the clearly empty table.  
  
"I'll go ask if anyone has moved it," Mark said.  
  
Twenty minutes later it was clear that the computer had been stolen. Steve and Jesse had searched the room and Mark had asked everyone who had legitimate access to the doctor's lounge if they had seen it. One or two of them remembered it being there at lunch but no one could remember seeing it since, nor could anyone remember seeing anyone who shouldn't be there in the room.  
  
"Damn," Jesse said, dropping onto the couch.  
  
"Hey, it's not so bad," Mark said, trying to remain positive. "We can still access the story online and read it that way."  
  
"I know," Jesse said, "But I've actually nearly finished it. The rest of the story is all stored on the hard drive of my lap top I just haven't posted it yet. I was still checking it for obvious errors and trying my best to correct the punctuation and spelling before I put it out there for people to read."  
  
"So how many unposted chapters are there?" Steve asked.  
  
"About five."  
  
"And how many have you posted?"  
  
"Three."  
  
Steve looked thoughtful. "Do you think you can remember what happened in those extra chapters?" he asked.  
  
Jesse nodded. "Yes most of it," he said, considering himself why Steve was asking. "You don't think that whoever's doing this took the laptop do you?"  
  
"It's a possibility," Steve replied, "So it would be a big help if you could write down what you can remember." Not to mention the fact that it would keep the young doctor busy so he wouldn't have time to dwell on what had happened earlier. "Meanwhile I'll go online and read the first three chapters."  
  
"You can use the computer in my office," Mark said.  
  
Steve stood. "Good idea, you coming Jess?"  
  
Jesse looked up at his two friends. "No, I'll find myself some paper and get to work down here," he replied.  
  
Both Steve and Mark hesitated momentarily at leaving him alone but came to the conclusion that he could probably use the space to sort his emotions out. "OK, see you in a while," Steve said and they headed off.  
  
  
  
  
  
Steve had been reading for about ten minutes. He had spent a little while on the phone speaking to the LAPD's computer crimes division, giving them details of the web site where Jesse's story was posted and asking them to find out what they could about those who were accessing it, and then he had settled down to reading. Mark was doing some paperwork at the other side of the room attempting to keep himself busy.  
  
"Dad!" he exclaimed.  
  
Mark looked up recognising the tone, it was one Steve had used since he was a teenager to let his father know that he wasn't happy about something.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me about this before today?" He asked.  
  
"Why should I have?" Mark replied with a, not unreasonable question.  
  
Steve looked at him, assessing his approach. "The lieutenant from homicide who comes out to the hospital." he paused, watching for a reaction.  
  
"Yes," Mark was giving nothing away.  
  
"He doesn't strike you as a little." he searched for the right word, "familiar?"  
  
"Should he?" Mark asked guilelessly.  
  
"Six foot two, slim athletic build, light brown hair, blue eyes." Steve began  
  
Mark shrugged.  
  
"He's called Steve Slade, for heavens sake."  
  
Mark kept his expression blank. "And?" he asked.  
  
Steve looked at his father, knew that he was being played, but couldn't stop himself from continuing, just in case his father really hadn't spotted it.  
  
"His outside interests are surfing and riding dirt bikes!" Steve said with increasing exascerbation at his father's denial of the obvious.  
  
"There are lots of people who like outdoor pursuits," Mark said, somehow managing to keep his expression serious.  
  
"Dad, it's set in Chicago!" Steve presented the last damning piece of evidence. "I don't think those are common pastimes there."  
  
Mark finally conceded the point, allowing a huge grin to spread over his face. "OK, so maybe Jess did base his character on someone he knew." He looked across at his son. "You know they say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."  
  
"Yes, well I'll reserve judgement until I see the rest of what he's written about me," Steve replied, before emersing himself back in his reading.  
  
A few moments later Amanda appeared at the door, but Steve was too engrossed in the computer screen to notice her. Mark put a finger to his lips and moved out into the corridor to join her.  
  
"Steve's reading Jess' story," he explained. "Looking for anything that might help us figure out who is responsible for what happened this afternoon."  
  
Amanda nodded. "I came down to fill him in on the autopsy but it just confirms what we already knew."  
  
Mark looked at her, a familiar twinkle in his eye. "He's just realised that Lt. Steve Slade is based on him."  
  
"Yes, well it is rather obvious.." she began, and then memories of an earlier conversation began to return to her. "Oh," she said her eyes widening before she broke into a grin of her own. "Has he got to the part where he describes."  
  
At that moment they both heard a couple of choice words that Steve Sloan never uttered, certainly not within his father's hearing.  
  
Mark grinned back. "I think he just got there," he replied.  
  
Amanda laughed, not sure if she was laughing at the remembered description of how Jesse had described Steve Slade's hair or Steve's reaction to it or, indeed, the conversation that she had had with Mark about how he would react if he ever read it.  
  
They both went back into the room grinning.  
  
Steve raised his head, glowering at them as they entered. "It's not funny," he said, in a tone reminiscent of a parent or a teacher admonishing a child not to laugh at whatever misdemeanor they had just committed and, predictably, as would happen with the child in question, this served only to set his father and Amanda giggling. "I do not change my hair colour every four months," more giggling, "I can remember what colour it was originally," more giggling. "Will you two stop it." A very brief attempt at control, followed by a simultaneous splutter and more giggling. "I have no intention of going white 'gracefully' like my distinguished father," Mark pointed to himself mouthing the words 'that's me' before continuing to laugh. The more they laughed, the sterner Steve became only adding to the comic value of the situation. "And, most importantly of all, my hair does not have a mind of it's own." Steve stated. It was, of course at that moment that the hair at the front decided to fall on to his forehead and Mark and Amanda dissolved into hysteria, leaving Steve to sit shaking his head disapprovingly.  
  
"You know," he muttered to the room in general, "when all this is over Jesse's going to pay for this big time." And he attempted to focus his attention back on the screen. 


	3. Hospital food

Part 3 : Hospital food!  
  
Jesse stood at the doorway and stared into the ICU room. He could hear the faint beep from the heart monitor and the click and swish from the ventilator as it moved up and down. He could see the slight form of the young woman her torso swathed in bandages, but he couldn't bring himself to enter the room or get any closer.  
  
This wasn't one of his patients, Mark had treated her, he had just come to see how she was. He had checked on his own patients without problems, managing to control his feelings, covering them in a veneer of normality. As long as he was working, he could concentrate on the injuries, the diagnosis, the patient and not how they came to be there, that was how he had coped in the ER, but now he was faced with a victim that wasn't his patient, that he had no good reason to be seeing except for a need to find out how she was, and he couldn't go into the room.  
  
A barrier of guilt and responsibility blocked his path. If it hadn't been for him, if he hadn't written that story, she wouldn't be lying there now. He stood and stared as his eyes defocused and the rhythmic pattern of sounds faded from his consciousness. She was still critical. She could die. He had already caused two deaths and now she could die too. Faintly echoing in the background of his thoughts were the assurances of Steve and Mark that it wasn't his fault, but the voice of guilt was stronger. It was his fault, he had written that story and now that it was really happening, it had to be his fault.  
  
Then the questions started. Who was doing this? Why were they doing this to him? Why her? Why had she chosen that Diner to eat in today? Why couldn't she have gone somewhere else? Why him? Why his story? What had he done? The questions came rapidly, randomly, not leaving him time to consider any of them, before they repeated.  
  
"Dr. Travis," the nurse repeated for the third time. As Jesse turned to look at her, she repeated his name one last time to pull him out of the trance like state he seemed to be in. "Dr. Travis are you all right?" the question was tinged with concern.  
  
"What?" Jesse asked still slightly distracted. "I..er.. yes I'm fine," he replied, forcing himself to focus. "I just.." he nodded towards the bed, "I just wondered how she was doing?"  
  
"Well I'm just about to check, but she's holding her own I think," the nurse said, "Dr. Sloan seemed confident that she will recover," she added recognising Jesse's concern. She watched as Jesse continued to stare into the room. "Do you know her?" She asked, curious as to why the young doctor was interested in another doctor's patient.  
  
"I.. er.." Jesse began to reply, still distracted by his spiraling thoughts. "No," he turned to face the nurse. "No I just helped treat her down in the ER," he added using the lie to avoid having to answer any more questions. He suspected that the hospital grapevine would soon have his part in all this spread around but he wasn't going to help it.  
  
"You could go in and check her chart," the nurse suggested, still confused by Jesse's uncharacteristically distracted behaviour  
  
"No," Jesse replied, looking at his watch. "I have to get back to the ER." He started to move away "Thanks, I'll check with Dr. Sloan later." He completed, walking backwards as he spoke and then he turned and hurried off.  
  
The nurse shook her head as she watched Jesse hurry away and then continued into the room.  
Steve took out his notebook and began to make a few notes as a means to occupy himself whilst he brought his temper under control. He avoided looking at Amanda and Mark who sat on the couch at the other side of the room, trying to bring a very different set of emotions under control. They were finding it considerably more difficult because each time they managed to control the laughter, a glance at each other and the obvious struggle to be serious would set them off again.  
  
As Steve calmed down and reread the story so that he could note the details in each chapter, he was forced to reevaluate the offending comments and he had to admit that, even though the humour was at his expense, he could see the funny side, not that he would ever let Jesse know.  
  
Finally he looked up. "If you two have quite finished," he said with mock disdain. "I could use your help in trying to work out exactly what is going on here before somebody else does get killed."  
  
Amanda and Mark, sobered up at the comment and adjusted their positions.  
  
"Sorry son," Mark said. "So, have you read all of it?"  
  
"Yes, and, not that I ever doubted yours and Jesse's opinions, but, now that I've read it for myself, it's clear that someone is mimicking every detail from Jesse's story." He looked at Amanda, "I'm assuming that your autopsy matches your preliminary findings?"  
  
"Yes and that matches exactly with the method of murder in the story."  
  
"Then we don't have long to figure out who could be doing this and why?" Steve said. "I'm going to call the captain and see if we can't get some extra personnel assigned to the case and I'll get someone to pull all of the cases that Jesse has helped out on. See if there is anyone in amongst them that might have a grudge against him."  
  
Amanda looked at him. "Do you think someone is going to all of this trouble, is killing people, just to get at Jesse?"  
  
Steve nodded. "It's the only thing that makes sense. Why else would someone match the details so accurately."  
  
"I agree," Mark said, "but it doesn't have to be someone from one of the murder investigations. It may be the relative of a patient or an ex patient themselves who feels they were misdiagnosed or wrongly treated." He looked across at his son. "It doesn't matter how good a doctor you are, when people don't get cured there are always some who believe that you could have done more."  
  
"I'll check into that," Amanda said. "If they have a grudge this strong, then it's more than likely that they will also have made a complaint against the hospital."  
  
Steve picked up the phone to call the station, swapping places with Amanda who moved over to the computer and began to access the patient files.  
Jesse entered the locker room and was relieved to find it empty. He really needed to pull himself together. Talking to the nurse had made him realise that this was going to get a lot worse before it got better. At the moment he could get away without explaining his strange behaviour and reactions, by using the odd white lie and half truth, but he knew how things worked in the hospital and if Mark was right, and half the staff had indeed already read his story, it wouldn't be long before they put the pieces together and realised that the events were being played out for real. As soon as word of that spread, there would be no escaping the mixture of sympathetic and accusatory looks, he wasn't sure which would be worse, and no way to avoid the inevitable questions.  
  
He sank down on to the bench and put his head in his hands trying hard to sort his thoughts.  
Mark was thinking, trawling through his thoughts for anyone who they had come across either through the hospital or through the cases they had worked on, who would have a reason for hating Jesse. As Jesse's boss, mentor and friend, he was in a unique position. No one knew the young doctor better. If there was anyone out there with feelings this strong then Mark would know about them too.  
  
He was so deep in thought that he did not notice his office phone ring as soon as Steve had put it down. Seeing that his father was distracted Steve answered it. The agitation in Steve's voice, however, attracted Mark's attention.  
  
"Jess?" Steve said "It's OK just tell me." there was a pause whilst he listened. "We'll be right there."  
  
Mark and Amanda were already standing, looking expectantly at Steve for more information.  
  
"He didn't say what was wrong but he wants us down in the locker room," Steve said, heading for the door.  
Steve burst in through the door at a run. Jesse hadn't indicated that he was in any direct danger but he still instinctively had his hand on his gun. His momentum carried him into the middle of the room and he quickly took in the details. Apart from Jesse sitting in the middle on one of the benches, the room was empty, surprisingly, his friend barely reacted to his dramatic entrance and Steve was left, breathing slightly heavily and staring at his friend, to make the opening remark. "Jess?" he asked.  
  
Jesse finally looked up at him. "In my locker," he said quietly.  
  
Steve moved cautiously over to the slightly open door and pulled it back. It took him a moment to scan the interior. Jesse had moved up by his elbow.  
  
"In chapter 4 they find the weapon that was used to knock out the first victim, a heavy screwdriver, it still has the victim's blood on it." He pointed at the large screwdriver sitting diagonally across the bottom of the locker. "I didn't touch it, but in the story it was wiped clean of prints so I doubt you'll find anything."  
  
Mark and Amanda had joined them in the room and they came over to the locker, both also slightly out of breath.  
  
"Looks like we can identify the blunt object used to render the victim unconscious," Steve said pointing at the item in question.  
  
"We could have done that anyway, it was in the story remember," Jesse said his tone bitter.  
  
"No Jess, at least not in the part that you've posted," Steve said, the details were still fresh in his memory and all that had been revealed to that point, was that it was the classic 'blunt object.' "All I've read so far is that he was knocked out, no mention of what was used."  
  
"How closely does that match your description," Mark asked.  
  
"Exactly," Jesse replied, "Even down to the colour of the handle." Realising the implications he met Mark's gaze, "but that means."  
  
"That if the blood on that screwdriver matches the first victim then whoever is doing this has had access to later parts of your story, before your laptop went missing." Mark completed for him.  
  
Jesse felt the need to sit down again and sank back onto one of the benches.  
  
"Where do you normally keep your computer Jess," Steve asked.  
  
"Locked in here if I bring it in to work, but I don't always have it with me," he replied as his mind tried to take in this latest information. "Not that that matters," he added cryptically. He looked up at Steve and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "I'm sorry I found this too. I picked it up I'm afraid, didn't think about prints."  
  
"Your cell phone Jess?" Steve asked confused, recognising it as the make and model that Jesse owned.  
  
"Yes," Jesse replied, "It was in the bottom of my locker but I didn't put it there." He swallowed looking at each of them as he spoke. "I had it when I got home last night but I couldn't find it this morning. I figured that it had fallen down somewhere, so I came in without it."  
  
"You're sure," Steve asked, realising the even greater implications of what his friend was now telling him.  
  
"Positive, looking for it almost made me late." Jesse, hesitated before continuing, "and I don't recognise the last number it was used to call."  
  
Steve took the phone from him and looked at the number on the display. He looked back at Jesse. "I don't know if there is any way of tracing the number used on the bomb at the diner but I'll get on to the bomb squad and find out if this number is a possible." The concern in his tone grew. "You do realise what this means?"  
  
"Oh yes," Jesse replied, his own tone strangely flat. "It means that the killer has access to my apartment, my computer, my whole life. They even used my own phone to detonate a bomb." He locked gaze with Steve. "What am I going to do now?" he asked, with a vulnerability that frightened his friends.  
  
Mark replied with the confidence and slightly forced joviality that the situation demanded. He needed to prevent Jesse from dwelling on his situation. "What you are going to do is get that shower and freshen up, whilst Steve gets forensics up here and Amanda and I go back to trying to figure out who is responsible for all this." He fixed Jesse with a 'I'm not going to take no for an answer look.' "You can join us when you're ready."  
  
Jesse nodded reluctantly.  
  
"I'll wait here until you're done," Steve said, taking out his own cell phone so that he could get people working on the latest clues, "and escort you up there."  
  
Part of Jesse wanted to protest that he didn't need to be looked after, that he wasn't in danger, it was other people, the people he'd written about, but a larger part of him was grateful that his friends didn't want to leave him alone. The invasion of privacy, the fact that someone had been in his apartment, had taken his phone, accessed his computer, all without his knowledge, left him feeling exposed, vulnerable, and he was grateful that his friends were there for him.  
  
Around twenty minutes later, feeling slightly better for the invigorating effect of the hot shower, Jesse joined Steve in the hall. He was just finishing talking to one of the crime scene officers who noticing Jesse's arrival, graciously took his leave.  
  
Steve looked at his friend, noting gratefully that he seemed less dejected than he had earlier. "OK, ready to go and see if Dad and Amanda have anything?" Steve asked.  
  
"Well we've given them twenty minutes," Jesse said, forcing the negative emotions down, "Your dad's probably got it solved by now."  
  
Steve was relieved that Jesse could still attempt a joke, although he could see the lines of strain on his face, the fact that he was trying to remain positive despite what was happening was a good sign. "No you need to add on at least ten minutes for him to discuss theories with Amanda," he replied smiling.  
  
They walked the rest of the way to Mark's office discussing what forensics had said and when they would have the results of any tests. They were just rounding the last corner and Steve had turned to look at Jesse so wasn't watching where he was going or, more accurately, what was coming at him. The food trolley caught him at an angle mid stride and as he attempted to keep his balance he grabbed for it at the precise moment that Nurse Johnson, shocked by the collision, let go of it. He fell heavily to the floor pulling the entire contents of the trolley down on top of him.  
  
Jesse just managed to dodge out of the way as the trolley narrowly missed his legs as it went over.  
  
"Oh my God," Nurse Johnson said, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."  
  
Jesse's immediate concern was that Steve might be hurt. He lifted the trolley out of the way with nurse Johnson's help. "Steve, Steve are you all right?"  
  
Steve struggled to help lift off the trolley, "I'm fine," he grumbled, "just bruised I think." He added rubbing the leg he had landed on. He looked up, realising that the concern and the apologies had stopped, to see the pretty young nurse who had burnt him earlier, and his friend attempting to do what his father and Amanda had failed so spectacularly to accomplish less than an hour ago. They were trying to avoid laughing at him. Great, that was all he needed, to be the centre of yet another joke. He looked down at himself and realised that he was something of a hospital banquet, Meatloaf, potatoes, gravy, peas, salad, tomatoes, Jell-O and ice cream all adorned his shirt and pants in a vivid mixture of colours. He sat up and picked a lettuce leaf out of his hair.  
  
Jesse could control himself no longer and he burst into fits of laughter, grateful for the release of tension.  
  
Mark and Amanda who had heard the commotion came out to see what had happened, as nurse Johnson, still desperately trying not to laugh, after all this was her fault. Did her best to clear up the spilt plates and trays.  
  
"Steve," Mark said, grinning, "I know you like hospital food but don't you think you are taking this a bit too far?"  
  
"Very droll," Steve said getting to his feet and attempting to brush himself off. He looked down at one of the stains on his jacket and getting a bit on his finger he absently licked it off. "Meatloaf," he said, "What a waste, tastes like a really good batch," he added without really thinking what he was saying.  
  
He looked up to see the mock horror on the faces of the others  
  
"Steve," Amanda said incredulously, "How did you ever get so little taste in food."  
  
"It's a throwback to a cousin on my father's side," Mark said, still grinning, "came from a long line of army cooks."  
  
"Really?" Amanda asked.  
  
"Oh yes I was researching the family genealogy, it must be where it comes from,"  
  
"Dad," Steve interrupted before his father got too distracted down this line of conversation. "Let's just help get this cleaned up."  
  
Mark nodded and between them they helped clear the corridor of debris, Nurse Johnson, apologising all the while.  
  
They were all still smiling as they watched her walk away when Steve suddenly became more serious, "Dad did you get a good look at her?"  
  
Mark was slightly confused by the question. "Yes, but."  
  
"Describe her." Steve instructed.  
  
Still not understanding Mark began, "Blonde hair, blue eyes, around 25 years." he tailed off, of course, Jesse's description of the second victim.  
  
The four friends looked at each other, then Steve looked down at his watch. "Eight O'clock, we've got less than ten hours."  
  
The happy mood had disintegrated, grimly the four of them headed for Mark's office. 


	4. Concerns

Part 4 Concerns  
  
Entering Mark's office, Jesse sank down on to the couch along the wall, Amanda sat next to him, whilst Mark went for his desk, pausing to flick through his rolodex as he took his seat. He found the number he was looking for and pulled the phone towards him.  
  
He looked at Steve as he dialed. "I'll call Mark Griegson," he said explaining his actions, "He's in charge of staffing, they'll be no one in personnel at this time of night and we need to find out how many of the nursing staff match Jesse's description."  
  
"Good idea," Steve said, "As soon as we know what sort of numbers we're dealing with I can check with the Captain and see about getting some more men."  
  
At that point Mark clearly got an answer. "Hello Mark, it's Mark Sloan, sorry to bother you at home but we've got a bit of a situation here and I urgently need some information about the nursing staff."  
  
Steve, Jesse and Amanda sat silently and listened to the one side of the conversation they could hear, as Mark explained, without going into the details of why, that they thought some of the nursing staff may be in danger. Having completed his request for the information he wanted, he paused listening to the reply.  
  
"How sure are you about this?" Griegson asked.  
  
"Very," Mark said, pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration. "Look, I know it's a big inconvenience but I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." He wanted to add that two people had been killed already, but was wary of doing so with Jesse in the room. He was already concerned at the effect all of this was having on his friend's mental state.  
  
Jesse would not have noticed, however, he was already lost again in a sea of negative thoughts, the brief emotional respite provided by the image of Steve covered in hospital food, already forgotten as he once more contemplated the fact that he was putting people in danger, getting people killed. He stared absently at his fingers, fidgeting with them, with no purpose apart from to release a little of the nervous energy that was building.  
  
Griegson sighed. "OK, Mark," he said looking at his watch. He knew Mark personally as well as by reputation and so was prepared to take his word for it that the information was urgently needed. "I'll be there in about thirty minutes. If you meet me in personnel I'll check the files for you."  
  
"No problem, I'll see you when you get here, and thanks, I really appreciate this," Mark said, hanging up he turned to the others. "He's on his way in. I said we'd meet him when he gets here. In the meantime let's put together anything we have so far."  
  
"I'm still waiting for the full report from forensics but it looks like Jesse was right, no prints on the screwdriver." Steve said.  
  
Jesse looked up at the mention of his name. "I told you there wouldn't be," he said quietly, his tone held a slight edge of uncharacteristic bitterness.  
  
The three exchanged concerned glances as Jesse stared back down at his hands.  
  
"So," Steve asked, turning to face Amanda, trying to keep his own tone positive. "Did your search of the hospital records come up with anything?"  
  
Amanda shook her head "I went back six months and there was nothing. No complaints made to the hospital board involved patients that Jesse had been treating."  
  
Jesse looked up at this, turning to face her with a slightly shocked expression on her face. "You've been checking if people have been complaining about me?" He asked, somewhat bewildered. If this had been happening to someone else he would have had no difficulty in figuring out why his friends had been following that line of enquiry, but he already felt persecuted. Negative reasoning and emotions, despite his best efforts, were firmly in control, and he could not see past the fact that they had been checking his record. Presumably to see if he had done something wrong, if he was responsible for what was happening.  
  
Guilt coloured every thought and a flash of anger and indignation, his eyes flicking from one to the other, "but I." the sentence tailed off ' haven't done anything wrong' should have followed, was replaced by resignation and acceptance that his friends were right to check up on him. He was responsible for the two deaths and the suffering of many others, he must have done something wrong, something very wrong, his eyes dropped to the floor once more, his shoulders slumped.  
  
Amanda turned to watch him, as did the others, used to his somewhat mercurial emotions, it was usually his leaps from pleasure to exuberance to excitement that had them stretching to keep up with him. Rarely did they see such negativity, but the changes were just as rapid, his emotions just as easy to read as his feelings openly adorned his expressive face.  
  
Replaying what they had said to each other, both Steve and Amanda mentally kicked themselves for their insensitivity. They already knew that their friend was barely holding it together in the face of the many shocks he had already had that day, and they also had the feeling that it was going to get worse before it got better. Given the circumstances, they needed to be as supportive as possible, and that did not include giving Jesse any reason to believe that they thought any of this was his fault.  
  
"Hey," Amanda said gently, "We're just trying to figure out who's behind this. Which means we need to find someone who thinks they have a motive to want to get at you." She paused before stating slightly more firmly, "We weren't checking up on you, we all know any complaints would be unfounded."  
  
She paused watching him, waiting for some kind of response, when she got none she flashed another concerned glance at Steve.  
  
"Whoever is behind this has some reason, however twisted, for wanting to make you suffer," Steve picked up. "We need to try to figure out what that reason is. So we need your help Jess. Can you think of anyone who may think they have a reason to have a grudge against you?"  
  
Jesse shook his head, at least that was something, but he still did not look up, and the fact that he remained silent spoke volumes for his mental state. Jesse normally dealt with everything in life, including his problems, at full volume. One of his strengths was his ability to reason things through, to bounce ideas off people, his ability to express comments and questions verbally often held the key to the solution of a case. Silence from him was unnerving.  
  
Steve tried again, he needed to get Jesse away from any motives that he could possibly feel responsible for "You've helped me put lots of people away for murder," he said, changing the line of questioning "Can you remember anyone threatening you, anyone at all who stands out?"  
  
Jesse shook his head again, still refusing to make eye contact.  
  
Mark watched the entire exchange, noting Jesse's response or rather lack of, with the same concern as the others. "Steve," he said, turning to his son. "Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up, I've got a spare shirt here that you can change into, you can use the shower in the locker room."  
  
It took Steve a moment to drag his gaze away from Jesse, his brow still creased in concern, his brain taking a little time to process his father's words.  
  
Mark's attention turned to Amanda. "And I think it would be a good idea if you went down to personnel, so that you can let us know when Griegson gets here."  
  
Amanda knew that Mark Griegson would page them as soon as he arrived, she also knew he wouldn't be arriving for some time yet, so she instantly picked up on where Mark was going.  
  
"Sure thing," she said standing.  
  
Steve too had managed to figure out his father's reasoning, he wanted them to leave so that he could talk to Jesse alone.  
  
Steve stood taking the shirt that Mark retrieved from the bottom drawer of his desk and proffered in his direction. "Thanks," he said, "I'll check up on the rest of the forensics results too." He looked across at Jesse then back at his father who met his gaze. A silent communication of mutual concern passed between them, then Steve moved over to the door and held it open for Amanda.  
  
Once outside the two stopped and looked at each other. "I've had more subtle dismissals," Steve said.  
  
"Well we weren't helping," Amanda replied.  
  
Steve nodded. "The only way we're really going to help him is to catch this maniac, preferably before they hurt anyone else."  
  
"Then let's get to it," Amanda said, allowing a slight smile to twist her lips. "That is as soon as you get rid of that new aftershave that you're wearing." She pretended to hold her nose. "What is it 'eau de meatloaf?"  
  
Steve couldn't help taking a sniff of the air himself, she was right the odour was rather pungent. He gave her a longsuffering look. "I'll meet you down in personnel," he replied allowing a small smile of his own to cross his face.  
  
--  
  
Mark moved to the leather armchair, pulling it a little closer to Jesse's position, before sitting down. "Jess?" he said gently.  
  
Jesse looked up meeting his gaze. Whilst there had been three people in the room, he could get away with limited responses, but now that he was alone with Mark, the intimacy made a direct appeal difficult to ignore. His eyes searched Mark's expression, looking for the disapproval that his negative emotions demanded be there. He was blaming himself, surely those around him must blame him too. Mark as his mentor and friend should at the very least be disappointed in him, but those emotions were not there, instead he saw only gentle concern. He glanced down to the floor and swallowed, partly relieved but still confused by his own powerful self doubt.  
  
"Jess?" Mark repeated, gently prompting his young friend, waiting to be given an opening that he could work with.  
  
Jesse met his gaze once more, asking the most powerful of the myriad of repeating questions. "How could anyone hate me that much?" His voice was quiet, unshed tears brimming in his eyes. "Enough to kill people?"  
  
The question was asked with such guileless innocence that it almost broke Mark's heart.  
  
Not that Jesse was naïve, far from it, intellectually he understood the motives for murder as well as anyone, but at an emotional level he would never understand the anger or hatred that could drive someone to kill. It was so far outside his own emotional range.  
  
Mark looked at him and tried to remember the last time he had even seen the young man genuinely angry. No wonder he was having such difficulty coping in the face of such malevolence.  
  
He shook his head. "I don't know, Jess. I just don't know." He paused for a moment and let out a breath. "But I do know that you're not responsible for any of this."  
  
Jesse looked at him. "But my story."  
  
"No," Mark interrupted the protest, trying to counter the guilt. "Whoever this is may be using what you've written, but if it hadn't been that it would have been something else." his speech tailed off as he watched Jesse's expression.  
  
"Anything to make me suffer," Jesse said, dropping his gaze to the floor once more as the tears threatened. "Why couldn't they just come after me?" He studied the ground, shaking his head slightly. "Why not just kill me?"  
  
Mark could not help but pick up on the implication that Jesse would have preferred that to what was happening. He tried hard not to sigh, not to show the despondency that he too felt. He had complete empathy, knowing that if he were in Jesse's position, he would feel the same and yet, that was not what Jesse needed to hear.  
  
"Jess, this person, whoever it is, is a killer and a dangerous one. One we need to catch before they hurt you or anyone else. No one deserves," he emphasised the word, "to be a victim, especially not you." He paused briefly before reiterating his earlier assertion, wondering how many times he would have to repeat it before it broke through the wall of guilt that Jesse had erected. "You have done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve this."  
  
Mark watched for a few moments as Jesse considered his comments, before deciding that he needed to push a little harder if he was going to have any chance of keeping Jesse on track. Although, like Steve, he knew that the only thing that would really help would be to catch whoever was responsible for this nightmare.  
  
"Steve was right." He said, shifting his position in the chair "We can't solve this without you, and you are going to need to stay focussed, do you think you can do that?" Again Mark watched as Jesse considered. He gave him about a minute this time, when there was still no reply... "Jess?" He prompted.  
  
Jesse slowly met his gaze once more. He took a deep breath and did the mental equivalent of squaring his shoulders. He nodded slightly. "I can try."  
  
Mark smiled and put his hand out to rest on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. "Then lets get started."  
  
--  
  
Steve stood leaning against the wall, letting the pounding spray of the hot shower massage some of the knots from tense muscles. For a moment he let his mind drift, forgetting briefly the trauma of the last few hours, as he lost himself in the sensations of the tingling water on his skin. All too soon the niggling questions returned and he sighed as he turned his mind once again to the case and how he could help his best friend. Still grateful for the brief respite.  
  
He picked up the shampoo, wondering idly if salad dressing was good for his hair, after all it did contain oil, but even that stray thought reminded him of Jesse's story, pulled his mind back to the potential threats and the emotional turmoil that his friend was going through. He hurriedly massaged the suds through his hair before rinsing them off and, with a sigh, he reluctantly turned off the stream of water. He grabbed the two towels that he had brought in with him, wrapping one around his waist, he began to rub the water from his chest and arms with the other.  
  
He paused as he thought he heard something from the room next door. Suddenly his senses were alert as he instinctively tensed, he could feel every water droplet on his skin. He stood motionless and listened, sure that there was someone in the locker room, and not sure why he should find that alarming, this was after all a busy hospital, even at this time in the evening there could be any number of people who had a legitimate reason to be there. He was however, painfully aware of his own nakedness, not just his lack of clothing but the fact that he had locked his gun in one of the unused lockers in the next room. He was unarmed and there was a killer with a powerful vendetta on the loose somewhere in the hospital.  
  
He held his breath and padded silently across to the open doorway that divided the shower section from the lockers, his heart pounding in his chest. Cautiously he peered round the corner to the room beyond.  
  
It was empty.  
  
He heaved a sigh of relief, muttering to himself as he strode boldly out into the centre of the room in a deliberate counter to the sheepishness that he actually felt. "Pull yourself together or you'll be seeing the bogey man next Sloan." He wouldn't admit it to himself but part of the reason he spoke the words aloud was for the comfort of hearing his own voice.  
  
He dropped the second towel on the bench, acknowledging at least tacitly that the situation had him a little spooked, by going to the locker and retrieving his gun and clothes before moving back to get dried and dressed..  
  
He was drying his hair when he noticed the sheets of paper on the bench opposite. Still rubbing at his hair with the towel, he stood, curious as to what they were. As soon as he was close he picked them up and instantly recognised Jesse's handwriting.  
  
It did not take long to realise that the sheets contained Jesse's summary of what happened in the next chapters of the story. Steve sat and began to read, oblivious to the fact that he still wasn't dressed. He frowned slightly as he read the sequence of events. Events that could become all too real if they did not manage to do something about it, but it was the last sheet, with the unfinished part of the story that gave him most cause for concern. He read it through again before gazing thoughtfully at the floor for a few moments. The last page was indeed worrying but there was something else niggling at the edge of his consciousness. He just couldn't quite figure out what it was.  
  
He placed the sheets back on the bench and began to dress as he thought about it. When whatever it was wouldn't come, he resolved to take the sheets to his father, maybe he could pick out what it was that was bothering him, but if he was going to do that there was something he needed to do first. As soon as his trousers were fastened, he carefully took the back sheet and folded it, placing it in his pocket. That was one thing that he did not intend to show to his father, unless or until it became absolutely necessary.  
  
He glanced at the front sheet again and then it hit him. With a sudden urgency he pushed his feet, sockless into his shoes, grabbed his shirt, pulling it over still wet shoulders and, without waiting to button it, scooped up the sheets almost running from the room.  
  
He didn't notice the appreciative glances for his exposed torso from a couple of the nurses that he passed, as he ran along the corridor to his father's office, bursting in, breathless, he hoped to find Jesse still sitting there with his father. Instead he was dismayed to find Mark alone.  
  
"Where's Jess?" He asked without preamble.  
  
Mark was slightly shocked by Steve's half dressed appearance but, recognising the urgency of his son's tone, answered. "He's gone to check on some of his patients. Why?"  
  
He dropped the sheets of paper on his father's desk. "I just found these," he said. "It's Jesse's summary of the next few chapters. In it the murder weapon, the screw driver, is found in Dr. Carter's locker. The very next thing that happens is Dr. Carter gets knocked out by a blow to the head."  
  
Mark's eyes widened as he picked up on the implications. "And the murder weapon was found in Jesse's locker."  
  
Steve nodded.  
  
Mark picked up his phone, "I'll have him paged," he said.  
  
Steve took out his cell phone, "and I'll try his pager."  
  
That done both men knew that the next step was to begin a step by step search. They could not afford to just wait around until Jesse contacted them. Even though in Jesse's story Dr. Carter had not been seriously hurt, both of them knew better than most how unpredictable a blow to the head could be. Steve had seen his fair share of homicides over the years where the murderer had only intended to knock the person out.  
  
As they left his office Mark gave instructions. "I'll check this floor," he said, "Jesse has patients on the next floor down and in ICU. The nurses will be able to tell you which rooms."  
  
Steve nodded grimly. "Call me if you find him," he said as he headed for the elevator, attempting to button his shirt as he went..  
  
--  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Steve knew there was something wrong. Jesse hadn't responded to any of the announcements over the hospital address system, nor had he replied to Steve's pages. He had checked all of the rooms on the third floor and was preparing to head up to ICU when something else occurred to him. If events were mimicking the story so closely then Jesse would be found in the same place Dr. Carter had, the ER.  
  
Steve pushed the down button to call the elevators and danced nervously from foot to foot whilst he waited impatiently for it to arrive. When the doors opened, his father was already standing inside.  
  
"You know it occurred to me," Mark said, as Steve stepped in and hit the down button. "That Dr. Carter works in the ER, that is after all what the program is called."  
  
Steve knew better than to be surprised that his father had come to the same conclusion as he had, only with far less information. He nodded, "According to Jesse's notes Carter is found in one of the trauma rooms, it didn't specify which."  
  
As the lift doors opened both men rushed out into a fairly quiet ER. Mark headed for the desk. "Has anyone seen Dr. Travis recently?" He shouted the question as he approached.  
  
The nurse at the desk nodded. "He came down about fifteen minutes ago, said he 'd been paged. I think he went into Trauma three."  
  
Mark did not wait, he rushed for the door, Steve at his side, both hoping that their fears were unfounded.  
  
Steve was the first through the door, breathing a sigh of relief at the apparently empty room. The relief however was short lived as he moved further in and noticed the slumped form on the opposite side of the exam table.  
  
"Oh God Jesse!" Mark exclaimed as he too moved into the room and caught sight of the figure on the floor. 


	5. Unnerved

Part 5 Unnerved.  
  
Father and son went round opposite sides of the table to get to their friend, each dropping to their knees by his side. Steve watched, feeling a little helpless as his father quickly assessed Jesse's condition.  
  
Jesse was only semi conscious, there was blood pouring from a deep gash above his right eye. Mark couldn't see any other injuries. "Jess? Can you hear me?" He asked in gentle, professional tones. There was no response.  
  
Mark turned to his son. "Help me get him up on to the table."  
  
Steve nodded and between them they lifted Jesse on to the examining table, although his eyes were open and he was moving, it was clear that he was not with them. The shift in position, however, seemed to cause some agitation.  
  
"It's OK, Jess," Mark said soothingly, "You're going to be OK." His voice had the desired effect and Jesse seemed to calm a little. Mark turned his attention to his son who had moved around to the other side of the table. "Make sure he doesn't fall.," he instructed. Steve nodded and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder and arm whilst his father first went to the doors and called for assistance and then retrieved some items he would need from the trolleys that ran along the side of the room.  
  
The two nurses who entered did a slight double take when they realised who the patient was but rapidly switched into professional mode as Mark gave them instructions.  
  
Steve's position at the table was quickly replaced and he obediently backed out of the way to give his father and the two nurses room to work. He knew that he should wait outside the room, but he did not feel that he could. The sight of his best friend lying injured on the table aroused strong protective instincts and, irrational though it was with both his father and the two nurses there, he felt that if he even went into the corridor he would be leaving his friend unprotected.  
  
He was already reproaching himself for having let this happen. He had known that Jesse was a target for someone who had killed more than once, he should have insisted that Jesse had protection whilst moving around the building. Guilt edged his concern as he waited for his father to tell him just how badly he had allowed his friend to be hurt.  
  
Mark continued to talk to Jesse as he cleaned and sutured the wound and was rewarded with signs of returning coherence.  
  
Jesse struggled to make sense of surroundings that returned in brief flashes, as though viewed through shattered glass. His eyes refused to focus, his thoughts were jumbled, snippets of sound, voices that he knew, familiar smells, movements, gentle touches. There was only one constant, and that was the pain in his head, as the world phased in and out.  
  
"Jesse, do you know where you are?"  
  
Finally a sentence that made sense filtered through, as his vision simultaneously cleared and Mark's concerned features sharpened, briefly blurred and then cleared again. Jesse stared at his friend as he waited patiently for an answer. He had to think about it. "The hospital," he finally answered hesitantly, unsure of his ability to form the words.  
  
Mark smiled with relief at the coherent reply, it was a little shaky but at least it showed that his friend was back with him. He continued to ask straightforward questions, smiling as the replies, each a little stronger than the last, confirmed Jesse's return to coherence.  
  
Jesse answered the last of Mark's questions, recognising them as ones he would use himself. "It's all right Mark, I think I'm OK." He moved to sit up from the half reclined position he was in and winced as the thumping in his head became briefly unbearable before settling down again.  
  
"Take it easy," Mark admonished gently, the concern still showed in his eyes. "You took a nasty blow to the forehead," he said, "Took seven stitches."  
  
Jesse rested back, "That would explain the thumping headache," he said, forcing a half smile, "So what happened?"  
  
"Well we were hoping that you could tell us," Steve replied from the opposite side of the table. He had moved across as soon as Jesse's replies began to become more coherent. Both men turned to look at him, Mark hadn't realised that he had stayed and Jesse had been unaware of his presence.  
  
Jesse thought about it. What had happened? He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, unwilling to risk any more movement than that, the space where the memory should have been was an empty void. "Sorry," he replied, "there's nothing there."  
  
"Well don't worry about it." Mark said patting the back of his hand. "Somebody clearly hit you with something that had a fairly sharp edge."  
  
"It was a metal tray," Steve said flatly.  
  
Mark looked up at him.  
  
"Chapter 4 of Jesse's story, that's what was used to knock out Dr. Carter," Steve answered the unspoken question.  
  
Jesse let out a sigh, Steve's comment was enough to return his memories of the day's events with a startling clarity, and with them came the painful emotions. "At least this time it wasn't someone else who got hurt," he said quietly staring straight ahead.  
  
Mark recognised the return of the melancholy and determined to stop him going back down that path. "So do you remember why you came down here?" he asked.  
  
Again Jesse took a moment to think about it, aware of his own slow responses. He looked up at Steve. "Because you paged me." The thought occurred to him that he hadn't been terribly cautious about his actions, despite the situation, because it had been Steve who had called him down. "From your cell phone."  
  
Steve stared at him for a moment, he hadn't paged him, maybe he was confused, after all the blow to the head seemed pretty serious. "Jess I didn't.." he began.  
  
"Wait," Jesse said reaching into the pocket of his coat "I have it here, I'm sure." He let the sentence tail off as he handed his pager over to Steve who checked the last message.  
  
Mark and Jesse both watched as some of the colour drained from Steve's features. It was his cell number but how.? He retrieved his phone from his pocket so that he had both that and Jesse's pager in his hands, as his mind worked rapidly to piece together the events of the last half hour. He didn't like the conclusions he was beginning to draw. He looked up to meet the gazes of his father and his friend. "I don't understand." he said. "It's definitely my number."  
  
Jesse's head was already hurting, he didn't need a puzzle. "You mean it wasn't you who wanted me down here," he said, his voice taking on a slight panic, now he couldn't even trust messages from his friends.  
  
Steve shook his head, "No."  
  
Jesse was beginning to get more agitated and Mark did not like the signs. "But I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all of this," Mark stated soothingly, he needed to keep Jesse calm. Although it looked like he only had a very mild concussion, he had lost a fair amount of blood from the wound and was clearly still in some pain, excitement and agitation of any kind would only make things worse.  
  
Jesse turned to look at him. He'd been hurt, other people had been killed and now his friend's were luring him into traps for the killer. The irrationality of the last thought failed to register in his confused and emotional state, as did the assurance that Steve had not actually sent the page. The blow to his head was still affecting his short term memory. He turned to look at Steve slightly accusingly. "Why did you page me?" he asked, "the killer was waiting here for me."  
  
Steve was stunned by both the question and the accusatory look. His own sense of guilt for having allowed this to happen to Jesse, was already enhanced by the realisation that his friend had come down here and been attacked when he thought he was coming to meet him. To have Jesse actually accuse him of some complicity only further reinforced those feelings. Whoever was doing this seemed to be playing with them. It wasn't just the violence, it was the deliberate attempts to emotionally unbalance them, particularly Jesse. Who could hate him so much?  
  
Steve met his friend's gaze, he had moments earlier, seemed to accept that it hadn't been him who sent the page, but now he was behaving as though he still thought he had. Steve looked up at his father, partly to question the younger man's responses but mostly because he could not deal with the hurt and bewilderment in his friend's expression.  
  
Mark recognised Jesse's loss of comprehension, the stress of the situation combined with the head injury was causing the confusion.. The stunned expression that crossed Steve's features was not lost on him, either, Steve was clearly troubled, and not just by Jesse's changing state of mind. He sighed inwardly, he would have to tackle that later, but at the moment he had more immediate priorities. "Jess," he said, drawing the young doctor's attention back from his son. "I really need you to try to remain calm, there are some more tests I need to run and you need to get some rest. You have a mild concussion."  
  
"But I." Jesse began.  
  
"Steve can come back and talk to you later about what happened." Mark stated in a tone which though gentle, invited no argument.  
  
Steve did not need any more of an invitation. "Yeah, Jess, get some rest, there are a few things I need to check on and I'll get back to you."  
  
Mark briefly looked up at his son as he left the room and attempted to read his expression and was surprised when he couldn't. He did not have time to consider it though, as his attention was drawn back to his patient.  
  
"But he still didn't tell me why he paged me?" Jesse said.  
  
"That's ok, he'll explain later."  
  
--  
  
Mark came out on to the corridor determined to look for Steve, but he did not have far to go. Steve stood only a short distance away, leaning his chin against one elbow which was resting shoulder height against the wall. He was deep in thought, lines of strain clearly showing on his face. Mark did not get any reaction as he approached, "Steve?" he asked still unable to read his son's expression.  
  
Steve pulled himself back from his ponderings, dropping his arm down from the wall as he turned slightly to face his father. "How's Jess?" He asked.  
  
"Still confused, but he's going to be fine. He's just gone up to X-ray and then I'll get him settled in a room for the night." Steve opened his mouth to ask another question but Mark anticipated what he was going to say. "There are two people from security with him, and they've got instructions not to let him out of their sight." He studied his son's pale drawn features, "but he's not the only one I'm worried about."  
  
Steve looked into his father's eyes, he leant back against the wall and let out a small sigh. "I shouldn't have let this happen," he stated, reproaching himself.  
  
So there it was, Mark had thought that it was something like this. He knew that Steve felt very protective towards Jesse, their friendship had always had Steve in older brother mode, almost from the day they had met, and over the years he had had plenty of opportunity to demonstrate that protectiveness. When he felt that he had let his friend down, it always hit him hard.  
  
Mark understood the reaction, but knew that, as usual, Steve was being too hard on himself. "Steve there was nothing you could have done."  
  
"I could have stayed with him, got security, or some uniforms down here," Steve said allowing a flash of anger to show, but it was directed at himself not at Mark.  
  
"Steve you couldn't have known."  
  
"Oh but I think I could," Steve interrupted, he stared at his father for a moment before continuing. "I've been running through what happened to Jess, and the more I go through it the more I don't like what I find."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"Well, I found the pages that Jesse had written when I came out of the shower. It was only after reading them that I realised that he was in danger."  
  
Mark nodded. "That's why we started to look for him."  
  
"Well I don't think that they were there, or at least not where I found them, before I went into the shower. I think the killer put them there so that I would find them and read them. I was sure I heard someone in the locker room when I got out of the shower." Steve paused briefly to allow his father to think about the implications of what he was saying. "I also think that they used my cell phone to page Jesse at the same time, knowing that he would come without question, thinking it was me." Steve's hands balled into fists as he subconsciously reacted to the anger of being used to trap his friend. "Whoever it is then left the locker room."  
  
"And went down to the Trauma room to fulfill the next part of the story and attack the person they've given the role of Dr. Carter." Mark completed for him.  
  
Steve. nodded, both men stood in silence. Now Steve had put his suspicions into words it hadn't lessened his anger at being used, nor reduced the guilt and frustration that he felt at not being able to stop the attack on Jesse, despite the fact that the killer was telegraphing their every move. If only he had stepped out of the shower sooner or listened to his instincts when he thought someone was there, he might have caught them before they could do any more damage.  
  
Mark stared at the floor, considering Steve's version of events it certainly seemed to fit the facts as they knew them. "But the killer was taking an awful risk. Jesse might not have been alone when he was paged, or you could have come out of the shower and caught them."  
  
"I wish I had," Steve muttered with a slight bitterness before giving a more considered answer. "I've been thinking about that too. If whoever did this was watching your office from down the corridor, they could see both your door and the entrance to the locker room. When they saw Jesse come out they could have taken their opportunity then."  
  
Mark nodded, "But they would still be taking an awful risk."  
  
"I know," Steve replied, "and that's what scares me more than anything else." He paused for emphasis and held his father's gaze. "I think that whoever is doing this to Jess, is too insane to care." 


	6. Jumping at Shadows

Author's note:- well you know what they say about the best laid plans.just as I get through all my exam marking and I actually have time to write properly again, my laptop packs up with half of this chapter stored in it's now inaccessible memory grrrh arrgh. Anyway, eventually it was retrieved! I apologise for the delay, but this time it was not my fault, honest!! Hope you enjoy it- Judith  
  
Part 6 Jumping at Shadows  
  
Amanda was inwardly fuming but her upbringing meant that she was too polite to show it, given that the person whose company she was in was in no way to blame for her state of mind. "I'm sure Mark and Steve will be here soon," she said for what must have been the fifth time. She looked up at the clock her expression briefly betraying her inner anger as she realised that it had been half an hour since she met Mark Griegson in personnel, almost an hour since she had left Mark's office. She quickly returned the smile, however, as she realised that Griegson was looking back in her direction.  
  
It was clear that he was becoming a little frustrated himself, he had come back in as a personal favour to Dr. Sloan, on the understanding that the information he needed was urgent, and yet his colleague was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"So how many matches do we have now?" Amanda asked in an attempt at distraction  
  
"Well half a dozen that match perfectly," Griegson replied, looking at the files in front of him. "Another twenty five, who have the wrong eye colour or don't quite fit the age range." He looked her directly in the eye, determined to find out exactly why the information was needed. Up to now Amanda had been somewhat vague and he had allowed it, figuring that Mark would fill in the details, but it was half an hour since she had paged him and Amanda's assurances that he would 'be here soon' were wearing a little thin. "You say that these nurses are in danger of attack but you still haven't told me who from or why you are being so specific about their appearance." He stated.  
  
Amanda glanced down at the list in front of her, breaking eye contact as she tried to decide how she could evade the question this time. It wasn't that she couldn't answer it, she just wasn't sure how much information she should give, and had been relying on Mark to make that decision, but then she had also been expecting Mark to join them almost immediately.  
  
Where was he and why hadn't he sent Steve or Jesse down if he couldn't make it in person?  
  
She made a decision and looked back up, standing at the same time. "I'll go and see if I can find Dr. Sloan," she said, beginning to move towards the door. "He'll be able to tell you more." She kept her eyes on Griegson, who looked as though he was about to protest at her chosen course of action. "I'll find out what's delayed him," she added quickly. "If you could keep compiling the information." She opened the door, flashing him her most charming smile. "I'll be back as soon as I can," and before he had time to reply she was through and closing the door behind her.  
  
She took a deep breath as she tried to order her thoughts, the smile vanishing, as once again she felt the frustration of not knowing where the others were and why they hadn't joined her, determinedly she set off for Mark's office.  
  
She had barely taken a few steps when she collided with Steve coming the opposite way. She hadn't really been looking where she was going, too wrapped up in her anger and frustration, she began to apologise before she looked up.  
  
"I'm sorry M... Steve!" Her voice dropped to a frustrated stage whisper. "Where have you been I've been trying to keep Griegson happy for the last half hour.. I've paged you and Mark twice each and." Her voice trailed off as she took in Steve's pale, concerned expression, her anger dissolving as she realised that something had happened. She had known Steve too long not to recognise the signs. "Steve? What's wrong?" She asked, her tone changing completely.  
  
Steve met Amanda's concerned gaze, "It's Jesse," he answered, "the killer lured him down to one of the trauma rooms and attacked him."  
  
"Oh God, is he hurt?" Amanda asked, a knot tightening in her stomach.  
  
"Not too badly, seven stitches and a possible concussion. He took a nasty blow to the head. Dad's just getting him settled in a room. He's keeping him in overnight for observation."  
  
"How.. Why." Amanda began to ask. The last time she had seen Jesse he had been safely in Mark's office and that had been less than an hour ago. Concern and confusion were mixed with a slight irrational guilt that she had been feeling anger towards her friends at the very time that Jesse was being attacked.  
  
"Look, I'll fill in the details later, but for now we really need to get these nurses protected. According to Jesse's story the nurse's body is found at the end of chapter 3 and the killer is already using things that don't happen until chapter 4."  
  
Amanda's eyes widened at the implications of what Steve was saying as she pushed her other questions aside. "So you think we may already be too late?"  
  
Steve nodded grimly. "It's possible."  
  
"Then let's get back to it." Amanda turned to head back into the personnel office.  
  
--  
  
Jesse started at the noise of the door opening, and turned to look at who had entered. He visibly relaxed as he realised that it was just Mark and chastised himself for being so jumpy. There was now a guard on his door with strict instructions on who could enter. Besides if the killer kept to the story then he was safe for the time being, it was others who could still be in danger.  
  
Mark noticed the reaction but did not acknowledge it. Instead he forced an upbeat tone. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that your X-rays and scans were clear. It looks like you may have escaped without even a concussion."  
  
Normally Mark would have expected a flip comment in reply, some reference to how much it still hurt even if it wasn't that serious in medical terms. Instead he just received a slight nod and a forced attempt at a smile in reply to his own.  
  
"Of course I'll still have to keep you in overnight, just to be sure." Mark picked up the chart and checked it, making a note about medication.  
  
Again a nod in reply.  
  
"So how are you feeling?" Mark asked before realising that the question was far too open ended for his young friend to deal with at the moment. He narrowed it down to the concrete, the physical. "Much pain?"  
  
Jesse sighed, "It's not too bad as long as I lie still," he said, "It only really hurts if I move around."  
  
"Well you know the answer to that then."  
  
Jesse repeated the minimal nod. "Don't move around."  
  
"Excellent recommendation doctor," Mark said, putting the chart back in place. "Lying still and getting some rest is exactly what you need right now."  
  
Jesse looked down at the cover, Mark was right he needed rest, and nothing would feel better than lying back and going to sleep, but for the last half hour, as his thinking became clearer, he had been able to consider nothing apart from capturing the maniac that was stalking him before anyone else got hurt, and he could not do that lying on his back.  
  
"But Mark I need to .." Jesse started to sit up, wincing slightly as the pounding in his head grew.  
  
Mark had expected the protest and put his hand on to Jesse's shoulder to stay the young man's movement. "What you need to do is get some rest. Steve, Amanda and I will handle things until morning."  
  
"But.."  
  
Mark gave his best stern look. "Rest."  
  
Jesse relaxed back on to the pillows admitting defeat, even if he wanted to argue with his mentor, the pounding in his head coupled with an overwhelming fatigue prevented further protest. "I'll try."  
  
Mark softened his expression, "Good, I'll be back to check on you later."  
  
--  
  
Amanda put the phone down and stretched her aching muscles. She turned to look at Steve and waited for him to finish. The door opened behind her and she turned sharply to check who had entered. As Jesse, the entire situation had her a little jumpy and she had to take a conscious effort to calm herself as she turned to see that it was just Mark returning.  
  
"OK that's the extra security sorted out on every floor and all of the nurses who are currently on duty warned of the danger." Mark announced as Steve finished his conversation and hit the disconnect on his phone.  
  
Steve looked up. "And there are officers watching the three nurses who live alone and don't have anyone they can stay with."  
  
Amanda looked down at the list in front of her. Every name had notes next to it bar one. "Well that's everyone on the list except one. I've tried nurse Johnson several times. I can't get her at home and her cell phone is turned off."  
  
Steve looked at his watch it was after ten. "She should be home by now her shift finished at eight."  
  
The three friends exchanged concerned glances.  
  
Mark looked at his son. "Can you get someone over there?"  
  
Steve had turned the sheet round and was checking Nurse Johnson's address. "She doesn't live far from here I'll go myself."  
  
"Then I'll come with you," Mark said, "Once we've checked on her we can stop home and freshen up." He did not add that once there he was intending on ensuring that Steve get at least a couple of hours rest. None of them would be able to rest easily until this was over, but hanging around the hospital and exhausting themselves would not help to find out who was doing this. The lines of strain were already showing on his son's face, and Mark had the feeling that it was going to get worse before it got better.  
  
Steve looked at his father. He had planned on coming straight back to the hospital once he had checked on the young nurse. He had already arranged that the case files, on cases that Jesse had helped on, be brought out to the hospital so that he could go through them, not really wanting to leave whilst he knew that the killer was probably still there, but studying the lines of strain on his father's face, he decided that getting his father home to get a couple of hours rest probably wasn't a bad idea. There was a good man on Jesse's door and several officers around the hospital to back up the extra security. He nodded, standing. "OK I've got some files to pick up from your office.."  
  
"Then I'll make a last check on Jesse before we go."  
  
"OK I'll pick you up by the front entrance," Steve said, making a move towards the door.  
  
Amanda picked up the phone again. "I'll keep trying her number."  
  
Steve nodded back at her. "Call my cell if you get through"  
  
Amanda nodded as Steve disappeared through the door.  
  
--  
  
Steve walked across the near empty parking lot, his footfalls echoing hollowly off the concrete pillars and roof. The only other sound that came to his ears was the slightly rapid beating of his own heart. He stopped abruptly, sure that he had heard someone behind him, but when he turned there was no one there.  
  
He stood and scanned his surroundings just to be sure, but there was nothing. He sighed heavily and turned back to continue the walk to his truck but had barely taken a dozen steps before he stopped again. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, a loose knot tightening in his gut. He turned sharply, sure this time that there would be someone, some sort of movement but again there was nothing, stillness, no sound but his own breathing.  
  
He shook his head this time, dismissing his own paranoia, suddenly acutely aware of the piece of paper folded neatly in his pocket as though it would burn a hole there. They would catch whoever was doing this before that became a problem, he reassured himself, starting once more for his truck, but quickening his step a little. The sooner he was out of here the better.  
  
He turned the next corner and caught the reassuring sight of his truck, glancing around once more as he approached, every muscle tensed, but he was still alone, the lot was empty, if only he could shake that feeling of being watched.  
  
He moved up to the side and balanced the files he was holding in one arm whilst he reached for the keys.  
  
That was when he caught the movement from the corner of his eye  
  
It startled him, heightened senses causing an instant reaction as adrenaline flooded his system, The files flew into the air, he ignored them as he instinctively retrieved his gun from his belt clip and aimed at whoever or whatever threatened him.  
  
"Dad," he said in an exasperated tone, lowering the weapon that was pointed at his equally startled father. He took a deep calming breath to try to counteract the thundering of his heart "I've told you not to sneak up on me like that, one of these days I might pull the trigger."  
  
Mark did not believe that for a moment but he understood the sentiment. "I'm sorry Steve, I was just tying my shoelace," he said, explaining why Steve hadn't seen him on his approach. He bent to help pick up some of the files that were now scattered across the concrete floor. "Jess was asleep, so I decided to save us a little time by taking a shortcut and meeting you here instead of by the entrance."  
  
Steve had holstered his weapon and bent to pick up his share of the files and their scattered contents. They would need a good sort out but that could wait until later. "How did you know I'd be here."  
  
"Well for the last year or so, you've always parked in this section, since there's almost always a space no matter how busy we are."  
  
Steve considered his father's answer. It was true, this area of the lot was difficult to get to and involved turning back on yourself, so only regular visitors, or those who stumbled across it when the place was busy, used it, and Steve had started to park here on a regular basis about a year ago, not that he'd ever consciously acknowledged the habit, but unsurprisingly, his father had. "And if I hadn't been here?" He asked.  
  
"Then I would have made my way to the entrance as arranged," Mark replied, smiling. "It really wouldn't have been much of a detour, two, three minutes at most."  
  
Steve gratefully accepted the pile of files from his father as both men straightened back to standing. A new thought had crossed his mind and a crease of concern furrowed his brow. It was clear that the killer had been watching them all, possibly for sometime and if his father had noticed his regular parking space. Once again he could feel the paper in his pocket as though it were radiating heat. His consciousness of its presence, of what it said, heightening his senses to it, but once again he dismissed it. Well, not quite, he would have to try parking elsewhere, for a while at least.  
  
Mark noticed the sudden increase in tension in his son, "Something wrong?"  
  
The question dragged Steve back from his musings and he caught the concern in his father's tone. "No, just hadn't realised I'd gotten that predictable." He forced a smile, turning to open the truck. "Come on, we should get moving."  
  
Mark moved round to the passenger door. That wasn't it, there was something Steve wasn't telling him. He looked across as he climbed in next to his son, but decided not to push it. Steve would tell him when he was ready.  
  
--  
  
Jesse opened his eyes and looked groggily around the dimly lit room. It was dark outside so it must be night but he wasn't sure of the time. He tried in vain to focus on the clock on the far wall, but the combination of slightly blurred vision and poor light made him quickly give up as the ever present headache increased. Even the slight tilt he had given to look across the room seemed to act like a volume control on the pain. He rested his head back on the pillows and waited for his eyes to adjust to the low level lighting.  
  
He considered his situation, frustrated that he could not get up and do something, but he knew better than most the effects of a blow to the head. Still, there was nothing to stop him thinking, apart maybe from the slight increase in throbbing in his temples.  
  
He went back over the events of the day, trying to block out the emotional pain that returned with the memories, instead he needed to put things together and work out who was doing this to him, before anyone else got hurt or killed. With difficulty, he pushed the guilt and anger to the back of his mind. Mark and Steve had both been right, he must know the person responsible. Whoever it was hated him, with a level of vehemence he found it almost impossible to understand. They were also very clever and very calculating. They had been watching him, patiently, waiting to act, taking the opportunity to cause as much pain as possible.  
  
He began to dredge back through his memories, going through the people he'd met both in and out of the hospital, trying to put name and form to the hatred.  
  
He'd met enough people capable of murder in his time helping Mark and Steve out, and had encountered his share of anger and frustration from relatives when he hadn't managed to save their loved ones, not that it was the norm, most people understood that medicine had it's limits, but there had been some who had questioned why, who had accused him of not doing all that he could, but all of them, as far as he was aware, had eventually been satisfied, and no one that he had helped Steve put away stood out. Besides this was definitely aimed at him, and Steve or Mark would be a much more logical target of revenge for the people he had helped convict of murder.  
  
He sighed and wondered if he could manage to move far enough to get himself a drink without his headache reaching unmanageable levels, or if he would have to call a nurse. He turned his head cautiously to look at the side table. That was when he caught sight of the flowers.  
  
A gasp escaped from him as he recognised the arrangement, half a dozen red roses. Without thinking about it he stood and made his way to the cupboard on which they stood. Not even noticing the shakiness in his legs, his mind for the moment ignoring the pain, his focus entirely on the card attached to the flowers. He pulled it off and shaky fingers tore it open, already knowing the words that would be neatly printed inside.  
  
'This is only the beginning,' the card read.  
  
Words that had seemed so appropriate when he had written them, when a fictional character was supposed to be reading them. Words that were designed to send a chill down a fictional spine and simultaneously excite the reader, promising of dangers to come. Words that now returned to taunt him.  
  
This had spilled over into the real world, into his world. These words now only promised more heartache and pain, as the killer repeated every detail, every nuance of his story. More people would be killed and injured, more people would become victims of his writing. Suddenly the guilt anger and frustration built into an uncharacteristic rage and he swept his arm across the cupboard, knocking the vase of flowers clean across the room into the opposite wall. His earlier question repeated. Why would someone do this to him?  
  
The police guard was through the door in an instant, his hand resting on his weapon, startled by the noise of smashing glass in the quiet night air. He quickly scanned the room for danger and saw no one but Jesse. He watched as the young doctor's legs began to buckle and moved over to help support him back to the bed.  
  
Jesse's system finally had to acknowledge its own residual weakness. Nausea and dizziness from the sudden violent movement, from being asked to stand without being given the time to adjust, caused him to first waver and then begin to fall. An almost overwhelming emotional onslaught accompanying the physical weakness as repressed emotions broke through his control. By the time the guard had supported him back to the bed his breathing was shallow and too rapid and he was shaking.  
  
"Dr Travis," the young officer spoke as he helped Jesse to sit down. "Dr Travis, are you all right?"  
  
Jesse did not hear him, did not acknowledge anything now beyond his own thoughts and the card he clutched in his hand, all of the emotions he had felt earlier in Mark's office had been reawakened. Only now he could add the promise of more misery to come, and still all he had was questions.  
  
A nurse arrived at the room in response to the call button the guard had pressed. She picked up the room phone and called back to the nurses' station. "Could you find out if Dr. Sloan or Dr. Bentley are still in the building and get them to come to room 312." She said quickly before hanging up and moving over to relieve the police guard, who gratefully returned to his position on the door.  
  
--  
  
Steve pulled up outside the apartment block where nurse Johnson lived and unfastened his seatbelt. He looked across at his father about to ask if he intended to come up with him when Mark's cell phone rang.  
  
"You go up, I'll follow when I've taken this," Mark said as he retrieved his phone from his pocket.  
  
Steve nodded and climbed out of the vehicle as he heard his father begin to answer the call.  
  
As he made his way up the stairs, his thoughts turned to what he might find and he quickened his pace, hoping fervently that there was some logical explanation as to why the young nurse could not be contacted, other than the one they were all afraid of.  
  
Arriving at the apartment door he quickly checked the number against the one he had scrawled on a piece of paper before leaving the personnel office. It was the right apartment and the lights were on inside, a hopefully encouraging sign. At first he just pressed the buzzer, when there was no reply he tried knocking. Still no reply. He pressed the buzzer and simultaneously knocked loudly. "Miss Johnson, this is Lieutenant Sloan from the police department. Could you open the door please," he shouted loudly, not wishing to alarm her unduly but needing to get her attention. Still nothing.  
  
The fact that the lights were on inside the apartment moved from being a good to a bad sign. She was unlikely to have gone to work and left the lights on and if she had been home since work, would she have left the lights on and gone out? It seemed doubtful.  
  
Steve was just trying to figure out where he needed to place a kick to try to break the lock and gain access, he had given up shoulder charging doors long ago, too many bruises, when he heard a noise from the other side, the definite sound of a chain being removed and then the door opened.  
  
He smiled in relief as he realised that it was the young nurse and she looked to be in one piece, from what he could see of her, and that was a fair amount since she was only wearing a towel, two if you counted the one wrapped around her head.  
  
"What's all that noise? What's the emergency," she said as she pulled the door open. "Oh," she paused as she recognised Steve, "it's you," she blushed slightly. "Lieutenant Sloan," she stepped back opening the door, "please come in." She backed into the room and he followed leaving the door slightly ajar for his father.  
  
"I'm really, really sorry for what happened earlier with the food trolley." She turned as she spoke so that she had her back to him as he followed her into the centre of a fairly compact living room. She stopped abruptly so that he almost walked into the back of her and turned. "That isn't why you're here is it? You aren't going to arrest me are you? I mean it was an accident and I did apologise and."  
  
"No," Steve interrupted the rapid flow of words. "I'm not here to arrest you. I'm here.." But he got no further with his explanation as she interrupted him, beginning the stream again.  
  
"Oh that's good, so why are you here? I know I told you that my shift finished at eight but I never expected.. And how did you get my address, have you been abusing some of that police power of yours or did you just ask around? I know that you know everyone at the hospital.."  
  
"Miss Johnson." Steve tried a polite interruption but it had no effect.  
  
"Although I'm not sure that many of the other staff know exactly where I live because I haven't worked there long and it is difficult to make new friends. I'm Sharon by the way and you're Steve aren't you. You don't mind me calling you Steve, do you? Anyway I'm glad you're here." Her brow creased in concentration, finally realising that Steve hadn't answered any of her questions, not that she'd given him opportunity to. "Why are you here?"  
  
Steve was beginning to understand why the young woman was so accident prone, she didn't give herself time to think before launching from one idea to another. She made Jesse seem almost sedate. "Well," Steve began, "We have reason to believe that you may be in some."  
  
She held up her hand and looked towards the door, "Did you hear that? It sounds like there's someone outside. Oh my, the door's still open I'll just." She began to move forward but tripped on the edge of the rug and fell forward.  
  
Instinctively Steve reached out to break her fall but missed on one side only succeeding in grabbing the towel which began to come away in his grip. His other arm had a little more success as she grabbed it. With her other outstretched hand she reached out and caught hold of his shirt, tugging hard in her attempt not to fall completely. Steve felt the towel drop, still clutching it with his right hand as the buttons popped off all the way down. Sharon Johnson finally managing to stop her descent as she steadied herself in his outstretched arms.  
  
A cough from the doorway made them both turn to see Mark staring open mouthed at them.  
  
Steve and the young woman looked at each other, Steve only briefly looking down before rapidly averting his gaze as he realised the towel was the only thing the young woman had been wearing. He reddened and tried to help her back to her feet without actually looking at her before turning guiltily to face his father, looking for all the world like a teenager caught out in his first kiss. "Dad I.er.. I .. can explain," he stuttered hesitantly realising what it must look like.  
  
Sharon Johnson stood and hastily pulled the towel from Steve's hand, covering herself with it. "Dr. Sloan I didn't know you were with your son. I was just.. when I.. If you'll excuse me I'll just get dressed," and she hurried from the room.  
  
Over the years Mark had caught Steve in quite a few compromising positions, but never one that looked quite as bad as this. He was sure that there was a rational explanation to finding his son with a beautiful naked woman in his arms, especially knowing how accident prone said young nurse was, but he couldn't resist the temptation to rib his son about this. Especially since Steve had a very characteristic flustered expression on his face.  
  
"You know Steve I always thought you were a little slow when it came to making the move on women you liked," he began to move across the room, his eyes following the direction Sharon had left. "I guess I'll have to revise that opinion." He turned to face his son, a mischievous twinkle clearly in his eyes.  
  
"Dad I." Steve began, preparing to explain himself, but one look at his father's expression let him know that he had just become the butt of yet more humour. Worse his father would be telling this story for weeks. He groaned, hadn't he had enough for one day.  
  
"I mean you could have at least taken the poor girl on a date first," Mark continued grinning.  
  
Steve tried to restore some of his dignity by pulling his shirt together but it was hopeless, all of the buttons had been pulled off. "She tripped on the rug," he explained. "I was just trying to break her fall."  
  
"Of course you were son," Mark looked down at his son's open shirt, which resisted all efforts to close it, he patted him on the arm. "Of course you were."  
  
Steve's expression turned to one of long sufferance, knowing that his dad would not forget this in a hurry. This just wasn't his day. "Who was the call from," he asked, attempting to change the subject.  
  
Mark's expression became more serious as he detailed the call from Amanda about Jesse and the latest 'gift' from the killer.  
  
When Sharon Johnson returned from the bedroom, he quickly explained the situation to her, and for her own safety, once she'd informed them that she had no one to stay with, he had invited her back to the beach house, to stay in the guest room.  
  
Mark couldn't help but smirk when his son had as usual, badly worded the invitation for her to spend the night, and had to quickly revise it before she got the wrong, or judging by the way the young woman looked at his son, possibly in her mind the right, idea. He shook his head as he wondered once again why a man who had that effect on women was still unmarried, before his thoughts returned to the more serious matters at hand.  
  
--  
  
The ringing of two phones simultaneously, shattered the quiet of the beach house The shrill beep of Steve's cell contrasted sharply with the deeper, more mellow tones of the house phone. Mark stumbled across his bedroom to pick up the extension.  
  
Steve lifted his head from the table and rubbed his eyes. He had fallen asleep on top of the files and now every muscle in his body ached in protest. He retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket and answered gruffly "Sloan here."  
  
He was just hitting the disconnect when Mark emerged from the bedroom, holding the house phone. "That was the computer section, looking for you. They suggest that we check out the website because someone just posted a chapter to Jesse's story."  
  
Steve stood his face a mask, "I'm afraid that will have to wait until we've been back to the hospital." He met his father's gaze. "They just found another body."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED... 


	7. Reactions

Part 7 Reactions  
  
Steve drove into the hospital parking lot and headed for his usual space before remembering his resolution from the night before. He turned the wheel and headed up a couple of floors to park on one of the upper levels. It was still early and the lot was largely deserted so he had his choice of spaces. He pulled in randomly and headed into the building. A short discussion had decided that he should come in alone whilst Mark dealt with their guest. They couldn't really abandon Nurse Johnson alone at the Beach house. So, despite his strong desire to accompany his son, Mark had agreed to wake her and wait until she was dressed before following Steve to the hospital, taking the opportunity to check the chapter posting to the web site.  
  
As Steve walked into the building, he did his best to try to work the kinks out of his aching muscles. It must have been around 3am when he had finally fallen asleep over the files on the table and his cell had rung at a little after 6. He yawned and rolled his shoulders again, trying not to grimace at the stiffness.  
  
It took him less than five minutes to reach the ER and locate the storage room which was taped off and guarded against prying eyes. It was the second time in only a few days that a body had been found in this section of the hospital and the atmosphere spoke of fear and confusion. The staff who were occupied tried to temper their curiosity and get on with their work. Those who were not, could not help but speculate on what had happened. Mark's briefing from the previous evening, warning some nurses that they may be in danger, coupled with the fact that many had read Jesse's story, fuelled the discussions, that were rapidly connecting the events.  
  
The conversation dropped to hushed whispers as he passed, and, even in his sleep deprived state, he could not fail to notice. He filed the observation away until he had more time to consider it and pushed his jacket back so that the badge clipped to his belt was clearly visible, not that it was really necessary to get him past the police guard, he knew all of the officers who were at the scene by sight and they knew him. He moved past the cordon and into the narrow room beyond. He was surprised to find Amanda examining the body.  
  
"Hey Amanda," he said as he came up beside her. "Don't you have a home to go to?"  
  
Amanda stood and stretched, turning to face him. "I was with Jesse 'til after midnight," she explained, rubbing her neck. "Didn't seem to be a lot of point in going home after that, I'd already asked the sitter to stay over, so I crashed in one of the on call rooms." She paused for a moment before continuing. "I asked them to page me if anything happened in the hospital."  
  
Steve smiled sympathetically before nodding in the direction of the body. "What have you got?"  
  
"Female nurse, age 26, killed sometime in the last two hours." She looked down at the body and then up at Steve. "Like the hospital porter she was hit over the head, possibly knocked unconscious first, but the blow didn't kill her. I won't know what did until I get chance to do an autopsy."  
  
Steve looked at her, "I get the feeling that you could save yourself the time and the trouble by just going upstairs and asking Jesse."  
  
Amanda nodded "You've noticed too huh?"  
  
"Matches Jesse's description of the second victim and how they are found in everything but the hair colour." He clenched his fists in frustration. How could they have let this happen right under their noses. He drew in a deep breath. "Guess we should have extended the warnings to cover all of the nurses instead of assuming the killer would stick to the details," he said, the bitterness showing in his tone.  
  
"Hey," Amanda said soothingly. "You did everything you could to try to prevent this, we all did, so don't even go there. Besides," she nudged him gently on the arm. "I've already got one friend eating himself up with guilt over this. I don't need another."  
  
Steve met her gaze, soft brown eyes stared into his. She was right, feeling guilty wasn't going to help, he'd already given that speech to Jesse the day before. Still, knowing something rationally didn't always help to take away the emotion. He sighed, "I know," he said softly, turning to look once more at the body, his brow creasing as memories suddenly slid together. "Oh, God!" The softly spoken exclamation made Amanda stare at him as he knelt down to get a closer look, but moving closer only confirmed what he had just realised. He pursed his lips pensively one finger rubbing his chin.  
  
"Steve?" Amanda used his name as a question.  
  
"Ellen Steven's" Steve said, looking up. "Jesse dated her a couple of times about four months back." He stood, letting out a deeper sigh, staring down at the body of the young woman. "Any idea how we're going to tell him about this?" He asked, the fact that his friend knew the victim well was going to make it even more devastating for him.  
  
Amanda shook her head, her thoughts mirroring Steve's, she let out a sigh of her own. "No, but we need to do it soon or the hospital grapevine will do it for us."  
  
It was at that point that they heard the raised voices from outside the room, "I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you past."  
  
"But I need to get in, I need to see.."  
  
The familiar voice made both of their hearts sink, with a glance at each other that clearly said 'too late,' they made their way quickly to the door. Steve made it first, "Jess," he said as he approached the position where the uniformed officer was blocking his friend's path.  
  
The officer obligingly stepped back out of the way to leave Steve to handle the situation.  
  
"Steve," Jesse said, relieved at seeing a familiar face, but it was short lived, his expression changed as he remembered why he was there. He looked into his friend's eyes pleadingly. "I need. I need to." he began, hesitantly.  
  
"Jess," Steve interrupted. "You don't want to go in there." he said, wishing he'd had the chance to break the news to him, at least he could have tried to handle the situation sensitively, stopped him from coming down to the murder scene, he would have done anything to spare his friend more torment.  
  
Jesse began to move forward slightly, tilting his head as though that would allow him to see around the wall, to see what was beyond. "I don't want. I need.." He shuffled forward a little more, almost expecting Steve to move out of his way but Steve remained stationary. "I need to see for myself, please Steve, I need to know."  
  
He turned his gaze back toward his friend's eyes and in that moment all his questions were answered, his fears confirmed. He swallowed hard, it wasn't that he had held out any real hope that he was wrong, from the moment he had overheard the nurses talking to the police guard by his door, about another body found in the hospital, he had known, and yet, he had still needed confirmation. "It matches?" He half stated, half asked, his voice strangely flat in tone, as part of his mind detached from the conversation and he confirmed to himself that he had caused another death.  
  
Steve's nodded reply was unnecessary and reluctantly given, he was only the messenger, had no choice but to confirm what was true, but somehow he felt he was responsible for causing his friend more pain.  
  
Jesse looked searchingly at Steve's expression, there was something else, something Steve didn't want to tell him. What else could he need to know apart from the fact that he had been responsible for another death. He pinned Steve with his gaze, as he realised what that something could be. "Who?" This time it was a clear question.  
  
Steve didn't want to answer, wanted Jesse sitting down, preferably with his father there to monitor his friend's responses. He put his arm on his shoulder. "Let's go somewhere.."  
  
Jesse shrugged the arm off. Steve hadn't thought it possible but his stare became more intense, more pleading. "Who?" he asked again.  
  
Steve sighed, waiting was not going to make this easier, he had no choice but to answer. "Ellen Stevens," he replied quietly  
  
Jesse's shoulder's sagged and he stepped back again, the world seemed to collapse in around him, his vision dropped to a narrow tunnel, his hearing blocked with cotton wool, with effort he forced himself to take a breath as even automatic responses seemed to shut down.  
  
"Jess?" Steve's muffled voice reached him through the mental fog that had descended.  
  
'Breathe, dammit breathe,' his mind seemed to scream at him.  
  
Suddenly the walls around him were closing in, even Steve's gentle touch on his upper arm felt like a vice tightening, and he had to move, he had to escape.  
  
He stepped back again, shaking free from Steve's touch, his thought processes confused with the tumble of emotions, he turned and headed down the corridor at a half run, oblivious to his surroundings, unable to temper his reactions.  
  
Steve was momentarily stunned, whoever was doing this was destroying his friend and he felt like he was helping to twist the knife.  
  
Amanda had stood and witnessed the entire exchange, feeling helpless as she watched Jesse's agitation grow, knowing that there was nothing that she could say that would make this any easier. She moved forward and touched Steve's elbow, "Go after him. I'll finish up here," she said softly, realising he needed prompting.  
  
Steve glanced briefly at her, an instant was all that was needed to share their mutual concern and nodded, "Thanks." Pausing only to tell the officer that had followed Jesse down from his room that he would take the protection duty from here, he hurried after his friend.  
  
Amanda watched until he had disappeared around the corner and then turned back to supervise the removal of the body.  
  
--  
  
Jesse wasn't sure how he ended up in the small sluice room off one of the examination rooms. For a while all he was aware of was the fact that he had only just made it to the sink before his stomach tried to empty it's meagre contents, he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, so there was only liquid to empty as the rolling nausea turned to a desperate wretching that continued painfully, long after his stomach was empty. When it stopped he realised that he was shaking, holding on to the basin for support, still having to remind himself to take a breath as his brain continued it's plea for oxygen, kicking out stress chemicals to try to alleviate the situation, which, perversely, only made things worse.  
  
Some part of his brain recognised the symptoms, knew that he needed to breathe slowly and calmly. The rational part of his mind fought against the rising temptation to panic as his chest muscles seemed to tighten and his vision remained fogged around the edges.  
  
Eventually the rational side won, his breathing calmed and he looked up into the small mirror to see his own anguished expression looking back. He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face and the back of his neck before leaning his head down and waiting, all of his thoughts concentrated on his breathing.  
  
Finally back in control he looked at himself once more and tried to rationalise his response, hardly able to temper the pain of loss with his own perception of responsibility, whoever was doing this was deliberately tearing him apart, killing people in the process. The fact that the victims were innocents in some sick game only made things worse.  
  
Jesse pushed the door back and entered the examination room, somehow he already knew that Steve was there, not at all surprised to see him waiting for him, watching out for him. He was grateful for the support, drew strength from it.  
  
Steve waited for a few moments, not wishing to press but needing his friend to know that he was there for him. "Jess?" He asked with quiet concern, a myriad of questions and openings expressed in that single word.  
  
"I'll be OK," Jesse replied forcing a tired attempt at a smile that did not quite succeed in turning his lips up at the edges.  
  
Steve nodded, scrutinising his friend carefully, he was pale and his eyes held none of their usual brightness but he seemed to have regained control, however tenuous, of his emotions. "Dad's waiting for us in his office," he said, striving to keep his tone neutral, he did not want to give him any reason to lose that control. "I've got a few more questions for you. Do you feel up to it?"  
  
Jesse nodded his reply and Steve pushed open the door for him.  
  
--  
  
Jesse looked up from the screen and sighed. "Yes," he answered the question that had been asked before he started reading. "I wrote every word, but like the author's note said, the order has been rearranged."  
  
"So chapter 3 has been reposted and chapter 4 added to fit in exactly with the sequence of events here?" Steve asked, he was the only one in the room who had not read the newly posted section of story.  
  
"Yes," Mark confirmed, "Chapter 4 now ends with the discovery of the body that Jesse had as the ending to chapter 3."  
  
"And according to the computing section, the post was made about ten minutes before the body was found." Steve shook his head. "The killer is broadcasting every move and we still can't stop them." His fists clenched as the earlier frustration returned.  
  
Mark picked up the pieces of paper that had been left on his desk the day before. "If whoever this is maintains their pattern, maybe we can guard against their next move, at least we have some idea of what's going to happen."  
  
Jesse looked forlornly at the notes he had written about the upcoming chapters. "But now we have no idea what order the events will occur in and no idea which of the hospital employees they will target next." He looked Steve directly in the eye, "Even when we knew they were going after a nurse, we couldn't protect them all."  
  
Steve felt another stab of his own irrational guilt, hearing Jesse's words as an accusation, not a statement. No, he'd already dealt with this, he refused to let himself be drawn down that path. He struggled for words of reassurance. "The other people in your story are surgeons, doctors, there are less of them and I'm sure the Captain will authorise more men."  
  
Mark picked up on what Steve was attempting. "And hospital security is being increased further, whoever is doing this is going to find it much more difficult to move around unnoticed." He picked up the pieces of paper one at a time, glancing at each one, "Besides, from what I can tell, no one else is killed in what you've written."  
  
"No just badly injured or almost killed," There was that hint of bitterness in his voice that was so unlike Jesse, it almost made his friends wince. He reached out his hand and Mark handed across the sheets. A small rueful laugh escaped him. "Thank goodness for the unwritten rules."  
  
Both men waited for an explanation, when none was forthcoming, it was Mark who asked. "Rules?"  
  
Jesse glanced up. "All of the characters I attack in the upcoming chapters are regular characters in the series, so you can hurt them but you can't kill them off, at least not without warning the readers that that's what you are going to do." He paused for a moment as he remembered something and he began flicking through the pages "Except for.." He shuffled back through the sheets again, when he caught a movement in his peripheral vision. He looked up, Steve was standing behind his father shaking his head, as he made eye contact he flicked his eyes down to his father and then back again repeating the shake.  
  
Jesse got the meaning instantly, Steve knew that there was a sheet missing but for some reason he didn't want his father to know.  
  
"Except?" Mark asked, wondering why Jesse had paused.  
  
Jesse looked him in the eye, then looked back down at the sheets as he tried to find an alternative way to complete the sentence he had started, "Except for the fact that the killer is posting their own version of these events, any of these attacks could kill." He looked up at Steve and caught the gratitude in his expression.  
  
Mark sighed. "Then let's hope they stick to what is written or we catch them before they do any more harm." He looked at his watch and then turned to look at Steve who carefully adjusted his expression. It was a testament to how rattled even he was that he had not picked up on the non verbal communication between the two. It was normally nearly impossible to get anything past him. "Look I'm going to have to do my rounds, I've got to see my patients and Jesse's but I'll get through them as quickly as possible."  
  
Jesse started to protest. "I can do my own rounds."  
  
Mark turned back to look at him, "Jess, with everything that's happening I don't think you're really up to working today, even if you hadn't taken that nasty blow to the head, I still think I'd be advising you to have the day off and since you did. besides I think you're still officially a patient yourself unless you took the time to sign yourself out?"  
  
Jesse shook his head.  
  
"In that case I'll take care of the discharge papers on my way round. Meanwhile you stay here with Steve, see what you can come up with." Mark headed for the door. He looked once more at Steve. "I'll be as quick as I can," he repeated, before turning to leave.  
  
"Dad," Steve's call stopped him with his hand on the door. "Be careful, we don't know who this person is going to target next, apart from the fact that it's one of the doctors."  
  
Mark nodded, appreciating his son's concern.  
  
Jesse barely waited for Mark to be out of earshot before asking. "Where's the last sheet detailing the events of chapter 9 and why didn't you want your dad to know that it was missing?"  
  
Steve sat at his father's desk. "It's missing because I took it."  
  
Jesse did not want to put the effort into thinking it through. "Why?" He asked still confused.  
  
"Because of what happens in it," Steve stated, when Jesse still looked confused he elaborated. "Police lieutenant Steve Slade is so obviously based on me and." he paused briefly, "given what happens to him I didn't want dad to worry." He stopped speaking as he realised that Jesse's expression had gone blank.  
  
Steve's parting comment to his father and now his comments on chapter 9 had sent Jesse's mind into momentary overdrive, as it really hit home that the next victims of attack could be from amongst the people he was closest to in the world, the people he loved as family, Steve was right, it was so obvious that he wondered why it hadn't occurred to him when he was writing it out. If the killer chose to emulate the events of chapter 9 then Steve was the obvious target and that meant. His thoughts were interrupted.  
  
"Jess," Steve said again urgently, grateful as his friend's eyes appeared to refocus.  
  
"Steve, you need to stay away from here until this is over," Jesse blurted the words out, his voice taking on a slight panic as his careful control on his emotions wavered slightly, fear for his friend's safety now outweighing other considerations.  
  
"Jess, I'll be OK, I know what to look out for and I'll be careful. I just don't want dad worrying about it and you shouldn't either," he said firmly. "I can take care of myself."  
  
Jesse wasn't convinced, "But.."  
  
"Worrying won't get us anywhere," Steve asserted, "We need to work on catching them before they can try anything else. So do you feel up to those questions?" He asked, neatly changing the subject.  
  
Jesse was struggling to regain his focus again. He stood up, suddenly the office seemed stuffy. "Can we get some fresh air? I'll answer as we walk."  
  
--  
  
They made it to the gardens that ran down one side of the hospital building, they were screened off from the road by hedging and were used by patients during their recuperation. The area was almost deserted as it was still early. Steve's cell phone rang. The two men walked in step as Steve answered. "Sloan, here"  
  
It quickly became clear to Jesse that it was Captain Newman at the other end of the phone and that Steve was not happy with what he was being told, but seemed reluctant to speak in front of him, he was only half surprised when Steve stopped and covered the mouthpiece. "Jess, why don't you go on ahead," he nodded forward, "I'll catch up when I've finished, but make sure you stay in sight."  
  
Jesse nodded, part of him was curious about what Steve didn't want him to hear, but he was too wrapped up in his own considerations of what had happened and what may happen next to try to figure it out. He stuck his hands in his pockets and kept walking.  
  
Steve watched him closely, grateful that he could now continue to voice his argument more freely.  
  
"Look Sloan, you know full well that if it had been anyone other than Dr. Travis who had written this story you would have had them in by now at the very least as a material witness." Newman was continuing his side of the argument. "Need I remind you that he has detailed publicly two murders and a bombing and that his cell phone, which was found in his locker was almost certainly used to detonate said bomb. The murder weapon for the first victim was also found in his locker, how much evidence do you need."  
  
"I know sir, but he was under police guard when the second murder was commited and he was attacked himself."  
  
"He could have hired an accomplice.."  
  
"Sir," Steve interrupted his Captain slightly too abruptly but pressed on. "Surely you don't think Jesse. Dr. Travis had anything to do with these murders, he's as much the victim here as anyone else and.."  
  
"No, I appreciate that someone is probably targeting the doctor and using his story but you have to appreciate how this looks. You're Dr. Travis' best friend and business partner, I can't leave you as lead investigator on this, and we really need to bring him down to the station so we can show that procedure has been followed. When the press get hold of this they'll have a field day as it is." He paused and blew out a breath. "Don't worry I won't take you off this altogether I'll just show Detective Turner as taking the lead, but I do need you to bring Dr. Travis in."  
  
Steve sighed in frustration, he knew that the Captain was right but he didn't know how Jesse would handle being taken in for formal questioning in his current state of mind. "What if he wasn't fit to be discharged from the hospital?" He asked. "In those circumstances we'd normally interview him here."  
  
It was Newman's turn to sigh, he was quite certain that however healthy Dr. Travis really was, he had just prolonged his hospital stay. "All right, I'll send Detective Turner there."  
  
"Thank you, Captain," Steve said, genuinely grateful. He knew that his Captain, could have insisted on taking him off the case completely and could have had Jesse brought in, so he was appreciative of the latitude he was being shown.  
  
He hit the disconnect thoughtfully and glanced around, he had been so focussed on the conversation that he had failed to notice that Jesse had moved out of sight. He felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach seemed to sink deep into his abdomen as he set off at a run in the last direction he had seen his friend go.  
  
--  
  
Jesse walked with his hands still stuck deep into his pockets, his shoulders down, barely picking his feet off the floor. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Guilt seemed to pervade every thought, feeding negativity through everything he felt, and his future only seemed to hold more pain for those he loved. He tried to repress the emotions again, to focus his thoughts, but it was becoming increasingly difficult, besides he still had no idea where to start looking for the person who was doing this to him, a day of thinking about it had got him nowhere.  
  
He dug his nails into his palm as he tried once again to work through his memories, from the time he had arrived at the hospital and started helping Mark and Steve out.  
  
He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice that he had rounded the corner of the building. He stopped abruptly as someone stepped into his path, it took him a moment to focus and realise that the expanse of cloth in front of his eyes was actually a man, he looked up to take in the full view of the hospital orderly who was about 6' 4" and seemed almost as wide. "Excuse me I." he began, assuming that he just hadn't been watching where he was going, he moved to go round but an arm blocked his path. That was when his instincts finally cut in and told him that something was wrong. He turned to move around the other way but a second man, a male nurse whom he vaguely recognised blocked his path. He turned again but there was a third man, a porter behind him. He swallowed as the third man pushed him roughly back into the first, who grabbed him and shoved him hard against the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs.  
  
"Dr Travis," the porter said, "We need to have a talk."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED.. 


	8. Anger

Part 8 Anger  
  
Jesse waited a moment as he forced air back into his lungs, his heart was hammering in his chest and every instinct told him to run but he couldn't. He looked to either side of him as he felt the men there grabbing his arms effectively pinning him to the wall, then he looked up into the eyes of the man who stood in front of him and swallowed. "What.,." he tried to keep his voice steady but it refused to cooperate, he licked his lips trying to restore the moisture but his mouth was dry. "What do you want to talk about."  
  
"Your story and the people around here who have died," the porter said, his tone harsh.  
  
For a moment Jesse's own guilt blocked reason and he almost found himself telling the men who held him that it was all his fault. Then self preservation kicked in, he glanced nervously at each of them, trying to push back the terror that was threatening to engulf him, he was helpless, probably wouldn't have been able to handle any one of them in a fair fight, against three of them he had no chance. He was fairly sure that they weren't part of what was going on but they had clearly connected him with what was happening and blamed him for it. Why not, he blamed himself? He looked at the men again and something told him that if he didn't do something, didn't say something then they were going to hurt him. He decided that his best bet was to feign innocence, if he could convince them that he hadn't written the story, that it had been someone else, maybe he could get out of this. His guilt spoke to him 'but you did write it, you are responsible, you deserve whatever they do.' It took all his effort to repress the thought.  
  
"St. . Story, what story I don't know what you're talking about," he forced an expression of bewilderment.  
  
The tactic was a mistake, he saw the flash of anger in the porter's eyes moments before his forearm slammed into his throat under his chin, lifting his feet of the ground, knocking his head back into the wall "Don't pretend you don't know what I mean," he said icily, easing the pressure slightly as Jesse's face went bright red, he didn't want the doctor to pass out, not until he had delivered his message. He waited for Jesse to take a breath, keeping his arm pressed against his throat. "Paul Peterson was my best friend, we worked here together for four years and you got him killed."  
  
The violent movement and jarring as his head hit the wall caused a spike of pain that settled to a dull throbbing as the pressure was eased and Jesse could finally take a breath. He gasped as his grayed vision began to clear, waiting for his eyes to refocus. Finally, he looked into the porter's eyes, a part of his mind agreeing with the anger that he saw there, but the rational part of his mind didn't agree, began using the arguments that his friends had been trying to help him see. It wasn't him, he wasn't doing this, he wasn't the one that was killing people, surely they could see that. "I didn't."  
  
The arm shoved back a little harder cutting ofF his speech. "Don't even think of denying it. We've read it, we know all of this is happening because of you." He nodded to his left "Collins here was dating Ellen Steven's."  
  
Jesse glanced at the man who pinned his right arm to the wall and the look of hatred he saw, made him move his eyes rapidly away. He swallowed, the arm had moved enough to allow normal breathing. "What. what do you want?"  
  
"What do we want?" He glanced in turn at each of his companions, before turning back to Jesse his expression twisting to vicious intent. "What we want is for you to leave, get out of here before anyone else gets hurt." He paused for a moment. "That's after we've taught you a lesson." Another shove as the arm resumed its pressure against Jesse's throat pushing upwards relentlessly, forcing his feet from the floor.  
  
Jesse felt the tightness in his chest return, gray spots reappeared and danced in front of his eyes. He was vaguely aware of the grip tightening painfully on both of his arms as he tried to struggle against his attackers, fighting desperately to release the air locked painfully in his lungs. Blackness began to encroach from the sides of his vision, and then suddenly the pressure was gone, his arms dropped to his sides and it was all he could do to lean back against the wall, sliding slightly down it to prevent himself collapsing completely, as he desperately drew air into his lungs.  
  
Steve rounded the corner and was shocked by the sight of Jesse pinned to the wall by three men all dressed in hospital uniforms. It took him only a moment to assess that they were hurting his friend. He pulled his gun into a two handed grip and yelled. "Police Freeze."  
  
The three men looked round. "Let him go and step away from him with your hands in the air," Steve commanded, "now!" The last word was barked with menace as Steve moved position, he needed to get these people away from his friend. He flicked the end of his gun to indicate direction as the three stepped away from Jesse. "Against the wall over there, and don't try anything. There are three of you so I'd be perfectly justified in firing." He risked a glance at Jesse who was still leaning against the wall breathing heavily, his eyes closed.  
  
"Jess," he called, "Are you all right?" There was no response and Steve uttered a silent curse. He pulled out his cell and called for backup. Unwilling to wait for them to arrive, he wanted to check properly on Jesse, he picked on the male nurse who looked the most nervous of the three. He gave him a pair of cuffs and instructed him to cuff the porter, then he gave him a plastic restraint for the orderly, finally with the other two secure and facing the wall he risked putting his gun away and put a restraint on the nurse.  
  
"Hey cop, what are you cuffing us for, we ain't done nothing," the porter yelled across.  
  
Steve moved so that he was standing directly behind him, he already had this guy picked out for the leader of the group. He placed his mouth close to the man's ear, his gun touching his ribs and checked that the cuffs were secure as he spoke. "Well from what I could see when I came round the corner you were assaulting a friend of mine," Steve's voice dripped with barely contained anger. "Now you have the right to remain silent. I suggest you use it until my colleagues get here and read you the rest of your rights." There was a cold control there that somehow made Steve's advice more intimidating than any shouting could have been. The porter swallowed, for the first time nervous himself.  
  
Satisfied, Steve walked backwards until he was standing next to Jesse not taking his eyes off the three hospital workers until he was level with his friend. "Jess?" he questioned. Relief flooded his system as Jesse turned to look at him, making a brief eye contact.  
  
"I'm OK," Jesse said, his voice rasping slightly. He leant back and closed his eyes.  
  
Steve wasn't convinced, he turned to study his friend as closely as he could and watched as he continued to draw air into his lungs in slightly too rapid gulps. He tried to assess if there were any other injuries but it was difficult, he had to keep at least part of his attention on the three men, even cuffed, if they decided to attack or make a run for it, Steve knew he would have difficulty handling them on his own, he needed to remain alert at least until his backup arrived.  
  
Less than two minutes passed before three more officers arrived from the contingent already on duty at the hospital. Steve left Jesse's side long enough to tell one of them that he wanted the three of them booked for assault and that he would come to the station later to fill in the paperwork. Then he returned to his friend.  
  
Jesse was still leaning against the wall but his eyes were open and he was absently rubbing his throat, trying to make sense of what had just happened to him.  
  
"Jess," Steve said, finally able to focus on his friend.  
  
Jesse looked up, his head throbbed, his neck hurt and his thoughts were confused, but the familiar voice was enough to draw his attention.  
  
"You OK to make it inside?" He asked  
  
Jesse nodded and pushed himself unsteadily off the wall but refused the supportive hand that Steve held out. "I'm fine," he said, glancing only briefly at the three men who were now being led away before heading in the opposite direction, it was a slightly longer route but it would get him back into the hospital without having to walk past his attackers. It wasn't that he was afraid of them, he had no reason to be with the police there, but he didn't want to see the look of accusation in their eyes.  
  
Steve sighed and followed, cursing himself. How could he have let this happen? He was supposed to be looking out for his friend, protecting him. How could he be letting any of this happen? Jesse was going through so much, and up to now Steve felt he had been next to useless at helping him with any of it and now he'd allowed him to be attacked, again, hurt again. He cursed softly and used his longer stride to catch Jesse up, falling into pace, as both men walked in silence, lost in their own emotional cloud.  
  
--  
  
Steve stood outside the door to the exam room, leaning against the wall, waiting for his father to finish. He rubbed his eyes and took a gulp of the drink in his hand, regretting getting it from the machine down the hall, since it bore only a passing resemblance to the strong coffee that it purported to be, still he needed the caffeine to keep him awake. He was getting too old to survive on three hours sleep in an uncomfortable chair. He caught the thought and idly wondered what Jesse would make of it if he ever admitted something like that out loud. He allowed a slight smirk as he imagined the fun Jesse could have at his expense, before he sobered. Jesse wasn't going to have any fun until this maniac was caught.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted as Mark came out of the room.  
  
"How's he doing?" Steve asked pushing himself upright.  
  
The concern showed clearly in Mark's blue eyes. "No permanent damage, just some bruising, but I'm worried about his head getting knocked again after yesterday so I'm going to readmit him."  
  
Steve nodded, "The Captain's sending Detective Turner out to interview him." He rubbed at his eye although he wasn't sure if it was through tiredness or frustration. "At this stage we need a formal statement, Jesse's too involved in what's going on to leave it casual. They managed to confirm that it was his cell that detonated the bomb." He let his hand drop down. "I managed to persuade the Captain to let us do it here, rather than taking him in." He looked into his father's eyes. "Do you think he's up to it?"  
  
"Physically, yes," Mark stated, subconsciously looking at the door, as though he could see through it even though the blinds were drawn. He shook his head. "I don't know, he's always been resilient, self reliant, I guess with his upbringing, he had to be, but with all that's happening. . . ." As the sentence trailed off, he turned back to look at his son. "Go in and see if you can talk to him, I'll sort his room out."  
  
Steve nodded and made a move towards the door.  
  
Mark reached out and took the half full plastic cup from his hand, "I'll dispose of that for you."  
  
Steve looked at him. "What makes you think I don't want to finish it?"  
  
Mark allowed a slight smile. "It's from the machine down the hall." He paused for a moment, "Even your taste buds can't stomach that."  
  
Steve met his father's eyes, sometimes he was sure his father could read his mind, he had just been considering how to dispose of the offending liquid, "Thanks, I think," he said, pushing the door open.  
  
--  
  
Steve had a moment to study his friend before Jesse looked up, what he saw was unsettling. Jesse looked vulnerable in a way he'd only seen once before and hoped he'd never see again. His friend always looked youthful, always innocent, despite the pain and loss he saw and dealt with everyday, but he had an inner fire, a passion that always made him seem strong despite that look of innocence. What had his father just called it, resilience, that was it, but as he looked at him now he was hard pressed to see it.  
  
Jesse was sitting up on the exam table his legs dangling over the side, he looked up at him with eyes that had lost their sparkle. "Steve," he said in greeting, his voice flat.  
  
Steve moved over to the bed. "Jess," he began slightly awkwardly. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry I shouldn't have. . ."  
  
Jesse held up his hand, "Hey, it's OK"  
  
Steve paused for a moment, it wasn't OK, it had been his responsibility to protect his friend and he had failed. He wanted to continue that apology but couldn't find the words to express his own sense of failure, so he let it drop.  
  
Jesse looked him in the eye. "Captain Newman wants you to bring me in for questioning doesn't he?"  
  
Steve realised that he shouldn't be surprised by the question, Jesse was far from stupid and he had overheard the beginning of his conversation. He nodded, " He's sending Detective Turner, Nathan, out to get a statement."  
  
Jesse would have smiled under other circumstances, it was good to have a friend like Steve, someone to watch out for him. Steve had clearly managed to persuade his superior to allow the statement to be taken at the hospital. "Thanks," he said gratefully.  
  
"So," Steve said trying to keep his tone casual, "Do you want to tell me what happened out there? We'll need a statement about that too."  
  
Jesse's expression darkened, he looked at the floor. "It was nothing," he stated. There was a slight pause, "I. . .I don't want them charged."  
  
"What?" Steve asked incredulously, "Jess, they attacked you."  
  
Jesse looked up, "They're just scared Steve, and they're not the only ones."  
  
"Jesse whatever they said to you, if you're scared of them. . ."  
  
Jesse realised instantly that Steve was misinterpreting what he was saying. "No, it's not that. Two of them have lost someone they're close too so it's understandable that they're looking for someone to blame. I was just in the firing line."  
  
Steve studied his friend, he could still see the redness on Jesse's neck. "But they hurt. . ." he began to protest.  
  
"Steve," Jesse interrupted, "can you honestly tell me that when someone has hurt, or threatened to hurt, someone you're close to you haven't behaved in the same way." He paused, holding Steve's gaze waiting for the logic to break through his anger. "I got their friends killed."  
  
Steve reacted to that, "Jess. . ." He didn't need to say any more for Jesse to get his meaning.  
  
"OK," he acquiesced, "they think I got their friends killed." He really didn't want to get into another discussion of how much responsibility he bore for all of this. "They were just reacting to that. You would too."  
  
Steve stared at him. How could he be so forgiving? These men had hurt him, who knows how far they would have gone if he hadn't arrived when he did.  
  
He considered Jesse's argument, his defense of these three. Was Jess right? Would he have reacted in the same way? No, he would never. . . He caught himself in the lie, but he had. He had attacked and threatened people when he had thought they were hurting the ones he loved, had lost his temper, particularly when his father had been threatened, had gone up to and beyond the point of risking his career to protect those he loved. Was he any different from these three? The answer to that was yes, he would never attack three on one, would never deliberately seek pure revenge, he might threaten it but he knew where the line was drawn. He wasn't sure he could say the same for the three man who had attacked Jesse. In fact he was fairly sure that his friend would have been badly hurt if he hadn't been there, and it riled him to think of them getting away with it. He tried to come up with something that would counter Jesse's argument.  
  
Jesse was still staring intently back at him. "Look Steve it's going to be bad enough with the rumours and accusations flying around here as it is. I'd rather just forget the whole thing ever happened."  
  
Jesse's voice still rasped slightly, he sounded so tired and lifeless, so unlike himself that Steve knew the discussion was over, he wouldn't make this any more difficult for his friend. "All right, I'll go down to the station and make sure that they are questioned, then they'll be released without charge." He paused for a moment," but not yet, it won't do them any harm to sweat it out for a while."  
  
Jesse gave a slight smile of gratitude. "Thanks," he said, his shoulders sagging further. He had used his last reserves of energy getting his point across to Steve. Suddenly the world seemed to shift, everything in his vision first tilting and then spinning. He wasn't sure which way was up but he had the sensation of falling, his muscles tensed. Why was he so cold? And why, if he was cold, was their sweat on the surface of his skin?  
  
Steve read the signs just in time, catching his friend as he pitched forward and helping him to lean back onto the exam table. He looked at him and was relieved to see that his eyes were still open, a little dazed but still alert. "Hey," he said as Jesse seemed to refocus, "no need for the dramatic touches, you already won the argument."  
  
Jesse took a deep breath, willing the room behind Steve to keep still. "Got to make sure," he paused to take another breath, "That you don't change your mind."  
  
--  
  
Steve met Detective Nathan Turner in the hospital canteen at around noon, once his dad had checked Jesse out again and had him settled in a room and on an IV to replace lost fluids and bring his blood sugar level back up, he had allowed the detective in to interview him. Mark had stayed leaving Steve free to check through the hospital personnel files both for potential victims and for potential suspects. It was beginning to look more and more like it was one of the hospital staff that was carrying out the attacks. With the increased security and most of the staff on alert for anything suspicious it was unlikely that a visitor to the hospital could pass around enough to not draw attention to themselves. Besides if Steve was right, then whoever this was had been watching Jesse, possibly them all for some time, making a staff member much more likely. Visitors and even patients would draw too much attention to themselves wondering the halls, whereas there was a myriad of different jobs that an employee could pretend to be doing, that would justify them being on the hospital corridors at any given time.  
  
So Steve had spent his time looking at doctors, nurses, porters, cleaners, maintenance and security employees, trying to eliminate as many as he could to leave himself with a manageable list of possible suspects. With no real idea of motive, except for the fact that they had a grudge against Jesse, he decided to concentrate on the people who had joined the hospital in the last year, working on the assumption that someone with a grudge had taken a job at the hospital so that they could get close to him. Of course there was always the chance that Jesse had upset someone who already worked there but it seemed less likely, and he had to start somewhere.  
  
That still left an impossibly long list, the turnover of doctors wasn't that high but as a teaching hospital there were all of the medical students, and there seem to have been plenty of changes in other areas. Once he included the agency staff who were brought in to cover staff absences and positions that were difficult to fill any other way, he really had his work cut out to just do the background checks that might yield some important information. He was glad that there were so many people working on this, checking on his own would have taken days.  
  
He placed the pile of information that he had gathered on the table and sat down opposite Nathan, who stopped pushing the food on his plate around and looked up. "I don't know how people, eat this stuff, I can't even identify it."  
  
Steve resisted the urge to point out that it was the meatloaf and that he happened to think it was quite good, knowing the reaction he would get, he already had enough comments made at his expense because of his liking of hospital food. So he just nodded his agreement as Nathan pushed his plate to one side.  
  
"OK there are about eighty names on the list," Steve said tapping the top of the folder, "Hopefully we'll be able to eliminate a few fairly quickly, a number of the students come from out of state and can't possibly have any connection with Jesse."  
  
The two detectives had discussed their strategy as soon as Nathan had arrived at the hospital. Despite the fact that he was nominally lead investigator on the case, Nathan had deferred to Steve's higher rank and greater experience, giving his own ideas but allowing Steve to call the strategy. Steve respected the young detective for that, there were others who were so career minded that they would have taken advantage of the situation, but Nathan's only agenda was to help stop the killer. It was probably why Newman had given him the job.  
  
"Unless the trigger for this happened a long time in his past," Nathan suggested.  
  
Steve sighed, it was another possibility that couldn't be entirely dismissed, but with a lack of clues in the physical evidence and no one with a motive standing out, their only choice was to check out those with opportunity, one at a time, hoping they made the right guesses when prioritising who to check first. "Well we may end up checking them all out more thoroughly. I'll run the list past Jesse too, see if it triggers any memories."  
  
Nathan nodded, he had been quite shocked by the young doctor's appearance and if he had needed any convincing that Jesse was the victim here, that in itself would have been enough. "He's resting at the moment, I think your dad gave him something to knock him out for a while."  
  
"In that case I'll go straight to the station and get some people working on these names. I've still got to interview those three that attacked him before I release them. What about you?"  
  
Nathan pulled some sheets from his own pile of papers. "I've been looking at the next few attacks, I thought I'd concentrate on looking for likely targets and positions in the hospital where they could happen so that we've got them covered. It's a shame whoever is doing this isn't keeping to the order Jesse wrote, that would reduce the possibilities."  
  
Steve nodded his agreement, "And they won't necessarily stick to the details about the victims either," Steve stated with a slight bitterness to his tone. If only they had warned all of the nurses. . . . He shook the thought off, it wouldn't help.  
  
"I've come up with a plan that should mean we have most of the areas covered, either with hospital security or our own men. The only one that really worries me is Dr. Romano, he's injured by a small incendiary device, whoever this is could already have planted that. As they proved with the diner, they don't need to be anywhere near it when it goes off. I've got a couple of people from the bomb squad to come and check around but in a building this size it's not likely they'll find anything, assuming there's anything to find."  
  
Realising that Nathan had finished detailing his progress Steve, began his own report. "Well, I contacted the computing section, they're going to call us the instant a chapter is posted. the last time it was ten minutes before the body was found, so it's possible that the killer will post the chapter just before they do anything, that might give us enough warning to at least do something to stop them."  
  
"We can only hope, the way this killer is going we're not going to catch them unless they make a mistake." Nathan took out his notes. "Do you want to check over my plans?"  
  
Steve shook his head, he knew Nathan was more than capable of covering all of the bases, besides, he wanted to get to the station and back before anything else happened. "No you're in charge," he said, standing, "I'm sure you've covered everything." He picked up his papers, "I'll be back as soon as I can." As he turned to leave he caught sight of Nathan's discarded plate and his stomach growled, reminding him that he'd skipped breakfast and had only had several cups of strong coffee to keep him going, he sighed inwardly, he just didn't have the time to stop right now, he'd have to catch something later.  
  
--  
  
It was three o'clock by the time Steve made it back to the hospital and it took him fifteen minutes to find a space in the crowded lot, he was only one level from the top and he lamented the fact that he could not park in his usual place, there was always space there. He picked up his files and stretched still aching muscles, trying to ignore the hunger pangs that added to his discomfort. He'd grab a sandwich as soon as he'd updated his dad and checked in on Jesse.  
  
A sudden noise behind him made him jump, he turned sharply to see what it was as a young woman belatedly flipped the switch to turn off her alarm. He took a deep breath and for what seemed like the hundredth time that day muttered a soft curse to himself. It had taken him far too long to react and he needed to be more careful, particularly in this part of the hospital. He rubbed his hand across his face and checked round before heading more cautiously towards the nearest stairwell.  
  
He checked his dad's office first but it was empty so he went straight on to Jesse's room, figuring his father would be there, and if not then Jesse or the nurses would know where he was.  
  
Jesse was sitting up when he walked in and looked considerably better than he had the last time Steve had seen him, his colour was back and the dark circles under his eyes were not so pronounced. "Hey Steve," he said, pleased to see his friend back. In fact he would have been pleased to see anyone, he didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts at the moment. "You've just missed your dad he was paged to go down to the OR, left a couple of minutes ago."  
  
Steve nodded his acknowledgement of the information and took a seat. "How are you doing?" He asked, trying to make the enquiry sound casual.  
  
Jesse looked down at the blanket, physically he felt a thousand times better, between the forced rest and the IV, his body had recovered a lot of his strength, but he knew that wasn't all Steve was asking about. He looked back up, "better," he replied. "You come up with anything yet?"  
  
Steve sighed, "No but I've got some stuff here for you to look through if you feel up to it."  
  
Jesse was about to reply when Steve's cell phone rang. He took it out and his pulse kicked into overdrive as he recognised the number of the computing section. "Sloan," he answered as he hit the connect.  
  
"Dr. Romano in the OR sluice room," was all the voice at the other end said, it was all of the information he'd asked for. The name of the doctor gave him the method of attack, so one of the doctors was going to be hit by a small explosion in the OR.  
  
Even as the thoughts connected, Steve was on his feet, "Romano in the OR," he repeated the information for Jesse as he headed for the door at a dead run.  
  
It took Jesse only slightly longer to make the connection himself. He ripped the IV out of the back of his hand and ran after his friend, the adrenaline rush of fear allowing him to ignore any residual shakiness.  
  
Steve tried to hit the correct sequence of buttons to connect the speed dial to Mark's cell but at the speed he was running he had difficulty. Finally he managed it but the line was engaged. He cursed and almost threw his phone away in disgust.  
  
Mark looked at his phone, it kept ringing but when he answered it there was no one there. He resolved to turn it off and deal with it when he had checked on whatever crisis it was that needed his attention in the OR. The panicked cry behind him made him turn just as he reached the main outer door that led first to the sluice rooms and then to OR3. He barely had time to acknowledge it was Steve, who had called out, barely time to register the words, "Dad, No," as his hand pushed on the door . Then Steve collided with him at a run, pushing him away from the double door just as it exploded outwards. . 


	9. Portents Realised

Part 9 Portents Realised  
  
Jesse pushed his way through the doors, he was about thirty yards behind Steve and just had time to turn and shield his face as the window that ran down the edge of the corridor exploded into a million shards of glass. He felt the heat as the debris peppered his back, the blast of air feeling like a boiling windstorm as it pushed him into the wall. The noise was painful forcing his hands to cover his ears in a reflex reaction. For a moment the shock robbed him of the ability to breathe, his lungs tightening painfully until the lack of oxygen forced a reflex that compelled him to take a huge gasping breath, only to inhale an acrid mix of dust and smoke in air that was still too hot. He coughed and moved his hand from his ear to his mouth trying to filter out the worst of the dust as he took another more cautious breath. He felt firm hands on his shoulders.  
  
"Dr. Travis. . . Jesse," a welcomingly familiar voice spoke somewhere close to him, "Are you all right?" Nathan asked as he pulled the doctor back through the nearby fire doors that had protected the corridor beyond.  
  
Jesse opened his eyes and blinked as they stung, instantly beginning to water with the dust. It took him a few moments to draw in enough clear air to speak. He leant against the wall, taking the opportunity to order his thoughts and decide on a plan of action. He looked up at Nathan and the three uniformed officers who stood with him. "Steve and Mark were in there when the explosion hit," he stated, his voce showing none of the shakiness that he felt, as he exercised a well practiced control, borne of working for many years in the crisis environment of the ER. "I saw them go down. There may be others in one of the ORs." He pushed himself off the wall. "We'll need medical, rescue and fire crews. I'm going to see what I can do." He was moving back towards the door as he spoke.  
  
Nathan nodded. "OK I'm with you." He turned quickly towards one of the uniformed officers, "Spencer, get us some back up now." He glanced at the other two. "Driver, Peters, coordinate the help when it gets here."  
  
Jesse waited for him to finish, pushing the door open as Nathan turned back to join him.  
  
The corridor was still full of dust that hung cloyingly in the air, limiting vision to only a few feet. Jesse picked his way cautiously through the debris and glass that littered the floor. There were small fires still burning in the room that ran alongside, casting an orange glow through the dust and dim light and adding to the smoke that made him want to cough with each breath.  
  
Jesse was almost on top of Steve before he realised it. The door, blasted off it's hinges, had landed on top of him so that only his head and shoulders were visible above it. Jesse quickly stepped round so that Nathan could get to the other side. "Steve," he said, trying to assess his friend's condition from the little he could see. "It's OK buddy, take it easy we're here to help," he added reassuringly. Steve seemed to be conscious if a little dazed. He was trying ineffectually to lift the door from his chest.  
  
Steve struggled to clear his thoughts, his confused mind still trying to process the overwhelming sensory input from the explosion. He was aware of a ringing in his ears and the tightness in his chest from breathing in dust laden air. A brief panic gripped him as he tried to move and couldn't, but as awareness returned he realised that there was something on top of him that was restricting his movement. He tried to focus so that he could coordinate his limbs to remove whatever the something was, but somehow his mind wouldn't send the necessary signals, and there was another niggling concern that would not form into coherent thought. Another reason he urgently needed to move. Something he should be worried about.  
  
Jesse's familiar voice cut through the haze as he tried to let the thought take shape. He blinked teared eyes and looked up trying to bring his friend's face into focus. It took him a moment to realise that whatever had been pressing down on him had been removed. He was about to say something when the memories finally connected with his consciousness. "Dad," he gasped out desperately, as he remembered the reason he was there. He began to look around and tried to sit up. This time the panic did take hold, his confused senses unable to exert any control over the fear response, as he realised that he didn't know what had happened to his father.  
  
Jesse had been trying to quickly assess Steve's injuries, checking for anything that could be life threatening, well aware that he still needed to check on Mark whom he had spotted only a few feet away. He caught the adrenaline spike and the panic response instantly and firmly placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. He needed to get him calm.  
  
"Dad," Steve turned his panicked gaze to his friend. "Jesse, you've got to find my dad he was. . . " He struggled against the hands that held him down.  
  
"Steve it's OK," Jesse said firmly, "He's right behind me and I still need to check on him but first I need you to calm down and lie still for me, all right?"  
  
Something in Jesse's confident and familiar tones and the hands that carefully restrained him, cut through the panic. He instinctively knew that he could trust the reassurances, knew that at the moment he would be more of a hindrance than a help, Jesse needed to be able to concentrate on helping his father, not dealing with him. So he repressed the strong urge to act himself and nodded, letting the fight drain away as he sank back to the floor.  
  
Satisfied that Steve was not in any immediate danger and that he wasn't going to try to move, Jesse turned his attention to Mark. He turned and scooted across the small gap that separated him from the older doctor, not raising himself from the ground.  
  
"Mark," he said trying to get the dazed doctor's attention.  
  
Mark had managed to pull himself to a sitting position leaning against the wall. He turned his head towards Jesse as he tried to arrange his thoughts, still unsure as to what had happened or why he had found himself lying on the floor in a darkened corridor. He coughed against the smoke that filled his lungs. "Jess," he focussed bleary eyes on Jesse's face. "What happened?"  
  
"An explosion," Jesse supplied without elaborating. "Are you hurt, in any pain?"  
  
"No, I'm fine," Mark said shaking his head, but wincing slightly to counter his statement.  
  
Jesse sighed wondering if Steve's stubborn refusal to accept his own limitations sometimes, weren't inherited or at least learnt from his father who, although he thankfully had less cause to test his stoicism, still found it difficult to be a patient and get his own ills treated. With gentle fingers Jesse probed Mark's head to find the source of his pain and found a developing swelling on the back right of Mark's skull.  
  
Mark hissed in a breath as Jesse's fingers touched it. "I think I hit the wall."  
  
"Did you lose consciousness?"  
  
"No, I don't think so," Mark replied, gently shifting to test that the rest of his statement hadn't been a lie. Apart from numerous aches and twinges and a throbbing headache, there were no sharp pains, no areas of numbness that might indicate more serious injury.  
  
"OK," Jesse nodded completing his own initial exam. "We'll have you and Steve out of here in no time."  
  
The mention of his son brought with it a stab of fear, although the memory of what had happened stubbornly refused to return, Mark knew that Jesse had mentioned an explosion. "Steve, was he here when. . ."  
  
"He's fine Mark," Jesse interrupted. "He pushed you out of the way of the blast, but he's going to be fine. Now I need you to keep still so that I can check on him. OK?" Jesse hadn't felt guilty moments earlier when he had used Steve's concern for his father to force him to relax and calm himself, and he did not feel guilty now about repeating the tactic with Mark. He was grateful that their injuries appeared to be minor but they had still inhaled a lot of smoke and dust, and panic would not improve either man's condition. As he turned his attention back to Steve, he was grateful to see help in the form of medical teams arriving.  
  
--  
  
Dr. Bill Taylor sighed in his exasperation at his three patients, none of whom seemed prepared to follow his advice.  
  
"Look Bill," Mark took the lead in trying to quell his colleagues' unease. "When all of this is over, we'll be able to get the rest that you suggest but someone is killing people in this hospital and we have to stop them."  
  
"He's already killed at least three people," Steve took up the argument, "And if the hospital hadn't been made blast proof when it was rebuilt, he might have killed a lot more."  
  
Bill nodded, he knew that what they were saying made sense, knew that they were all too much an integral part of what was going on for him to have any hope of persuading them to take the rest that their bodies needed after the trauma they had suffered, but he also knew that he would not be doing his job if he did not try. Mark and Jesse both had head injuries that at the very least needed monitoring and he was worried about the amount of smoke that all three men had inhaled. Steve had bruising covering virtually his entire left side where the door had pushed him to the floor and he had various cuts from flying glass that had needed minor sutures, but overall they had been lucky. The door had protected Mark and Steve from the worst of the heat from the explosion and Jesse had been far enough away for the real sting to have gone before it reached him. Their injuries could all have been much worse.  
  
"All right," Bill acquiesced, "you all know what symptoms to look out for and I don't suppose that under the circumstances you'll be venturing too far from the hospital, so I'll get a nurse to fill out these prescriptions for you. Just promise me that you'll all try to take it easy and you'll have me paged if there are any problems."  
  
The three men nodded their agreement. "Thanks, Bill," Mark said, clasping his hand on his friend's shoulder, "We appreciate your help."  
  
Steve and Jesse had already stood and were making good their escape from the room before Bill, or Mark for that matter, changed their minds and tried to persuade them to be admitted, leaving others to solve the crime. They both had enough aches to remind them that they should be lying in bed and allowing their bodies to recover from the various physical and emotional traumas of the last twenty four hours, and they both had equally powerful motivators that would prevent them from doing that  
  
Mark waited until they were out of earshot before adding. "Don't worry I'll keep my eye on them."  
  
Bill Taylor turned from watching the two men leave to meet Mark's gaze. "And who's going to keep an eye on you?" He asked only half joking.  
  
--  
  
"Maybe he was right," Jesse said, resignedly sinking down into the leather chair in Mark's office, his gaze dropping to the floor.  
  
Steve looked up from the files he was retrieving, he had headed straight for Mark's desk and the personnel files that were there, keen to make a fresh start, this time with Jesse's help, at looking for possible suspects. He looked confused at Jesse's comment and tried to trawl back through his memories of recent conversations to see if he could figure out who was right and what they could be right about. He realised that up to that point his friend had been uncharacteristically silent, apart from asking him how he was feeling there had been very little conversation. He gave up when nothing came to mind. "Who was right about what?" He asked.  
  
"The porter," Jesse said, not looking up from the floor. "He said that I should leave, get out of here, Maybe the attacks, the killings would stop if. . ."  
  
"Jess," Steve interrupted, sighing inwardly as he recognised his friend's guilt once more, he had half expected this to come out sooner, had seen the look of guilt and pain that had crossed his friend's features when he had been helping to treat his father down in the ER, stubbornly refusing to let anyone check on his injuries until he was sure that neither Steve nor Mark was seriously hurt, and then only accepting treatment when they were both resting comfortably. Given the guilt that the young doctor felt for the injuries and deaths of strangers, he could only imagine how hard it must be for his friend, thinking himself responsible for almost getting Mark killed. "I don't think that it would make a difference where you were," Steve continued, "this maniac would go on killing, as long as they know that they are getting to you, which, by using your story, they can do wherever you are."  
  
"But. . . maybe if. . ."  
  
"No, Jess, look, you've got to stop blaming yourself for what is happening around you, for what someone else is doing to you."  
  
Jesse finally looked up to meet his friend's gaze. "I was almost responsible for getting you and Mark killed this afternoon." The volume of his voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, a stark contrast with the confident professional tones that he had used to reassure his friend in the aftermath of the explosion. "And, whatever you say, it would have been my fault." There was a pause as both his gaze and his tone dropped further. "I don't think I could live with that." The last sentence was spoken as much to himself as to Steve.  
  
"Don't think you could live with what?" Mark asked from the doorway. Both Steve and Jesse looked up, slightly startled, neither had heard the door open. Steve was surprised that his father had heard the softly spoken phrase.  
  
"He thinks he's responsible for what happened. . . for what almost happened to you this afternoon." Steve supplied when it was clear that Jesse was not going to answer the question.  
  
Steve felt reassured by his father's arrival partly because he knew that Mark would help Jesse deal with his mercurial emotions, and partly because he was finding it difficult to shake the fear of loss that had pervaded his senses ever since he had received the call from the computing section that afternoon. He had insisted on staying in the same room whilst Mark was being treated and had only just managed to stop short of insisting that he accompany his father when he was taken for a CT scan and X-ray. Seeing him walk through the door now, slightly paler and moving a little more slowly than was usual, but nonetheless alive and well, brought Steve some measure of relief from the fear he hadn't consciously acknowledged that he had been feeling.  
  
Mark met Jesse's gaze, then shook his head slowly. "No Jess, there's no way you can hold yourself responsible for what happened this afternoon." He moved towards his desk. "I mean there is no way on earth that you would have compared me to Dr. Romano would you?"  
  
It took Jesse a moment to process the unexpected question and it had the effect that Mark had wanted, making Jesse shift his thinking.  
  
Mark knew from the confused expression that now crossed Jesse's features, replacing the guilty one that had been there, that his tactic was working. He continued to speak as he moved across the room "I mean the man is pompous and overbearing and shows no consideration for either his patients or his staff, the man is nothing like me." He fixed Jesse with his gaze, "Is he?" He asked earnestly.  
  
Jesse's mind worked for a moment on the comparison. "No, nothing," he replied.  
  
"Well maybe there's something in the pompous part," Steve interjected, unable to resist the gentle jibe as he joined in with his father's distraction.  
  
Mark shot him a withering look that held no venom, trying to resist a smirk. "As I said the man is nothing," he emphasised the word, "like me. So you can't be responsible for what happened to me. Only the killer would have made that comparison."  
  
Jesse tried to make sense of the skewed logic, unable for the moment to counter Mark's argument, the guilt temporarily abated.  
  
"In fact," Mark sat as he continued his reasoning. "I don't know whether to be more upset that someone tried to kill me, or that they compared me to such an unsympathetic character."  
  
Steve marveled at the way his father worked, deliberately lightening the mood, despite the seriousness of what they were facing. Jesse had been spiraling down into a well of guilt and depression, but his expression and the dark cloud that seemed to have been settling over him were both lifting. Still, he also acknowledged that this was only possible because they had all emerged relatively unscathed from the incident. They might not be so lucky next time. He forced his attention back to the files.  
  
"So, Jess, you going to help me go through these personnel files again, see if you can spot anyone familiar."  
  
Jesse looked across at his friend, "Sure," he said.  
  
Steve distributed the files around and the three men began working their way through them.  
  
--  
  
Nathan's knock on the door about half an hour later came as a welcome relief, Steve stood and stretched aching muscles and stiffening joints as the young detective entered.  
  
Nathan greeted them making polite inquiries about how they were all feeling before he got round to reporting his progress. "I've got a preliminary report back from forensics on the device in the OR, it was rigged to an anaesthetic and oxygen cylinder, and seemed to have some sort of timer delay on it. There was a remote contact switch on the door."  
  
"So it was designed to go off a few seconds after someone walked into the room?" Steve asked, remembering that there hadn't been long between him shouting as his father pushed the door open and the explosion going off.  
  
Nathan nodded, "Just long enough for someone to get through the doors and take the full force of the blast."  
  
Steve's jaw clenched as his mind formed images of what might have happened if he had arrived just a few seconds later, and it took a conscious effort to shake them and remind himself that he had arrived in time and that his father was all right. He cursed the killer in tones too soft to be heard. "Has anyone at the station come up with anything."  
  
Nathan shook his head. "Nothing except to confirm that there is no one that Jesse has helped you to put away who is out on the streets. They are all either serving life sentences or on Death Row for their crimes and we've confirmed the location of all of them. So unless it's a friend or relative it doesn't look like the motive comes from cases that Jesse's helped out on. We may have to look for our psychopath elsewhere."  
  
Something in what Nathan said, triggered a thought in Steve's mind. He could almost feel the cogs turning, the gears sliding into place and locking, as the idea took shape. "Maybe it's not a case he helped on. . ." Steve said his mind still working through the possibilities, the checks he would have to make.  
  
"You got something?" Mark asked, recognising the shift in his son's mood.  
  
Steve looked round, his thoughts still clearly distracted, "What? . . Oh, it may be nothing," he said, as three expectant pairs of eyes gazed at him. He didn't really have anything beyond an idea but it was something that was worth checking out. "Its just another angle that we haven't looked at." There was a slight pause whilst he considered giving them more details but one look at Jesse was enough to decide him against it. He really didn't need to be reminded of traumatic incidents from his past on top of what was happening at the moment. He would only need to tell him about it if something came of the idea. "I'm going to head for the station, check a few things out. I'll let you know what I find. You keep going on the personnel files."  
  
"Do you want me to get someone to drive you?" Nathan asked, concerned by Steve's stiff movements and the dark circles under his eyes.  
  
"No, I'll be OK," he said moving for the door, He met Nathan's gaze. "Just make sure neither of these two get into any trouble whilst I'm gone."  
  
"Easier said than done," Nathan replied, but nodded. "I'll do my best."  
  
Satisfied Steve hurried off as quickly as his battered limbs would allow. Some instinct told him that he was on to something, so the sooner he could check his theory out the better.  
  
--  
  
Jesse read the file again and tried to figure out what was wrong with what he was reading but he couldn't quite make the connection. The file was for a Paul Bilson, the hospital porter who had attacked him that morning. He had been working at the hospital for the last six months having transferred from a secure mental facility, out of state, his references were good and although Jesse recognised the address as being in an apartment complex a few blocks from the hospital, he had never been in the area, as it wasn't one of the more salubrious neighborhoods. He also couldn't recall any other connection with the man, apart from the encounter that morning and yet, something was nagging at him. Before he could consider it further, Nathan's cell phone began to ring.  
  
All three men froze from their tasks as Nathan retrieved the phone from his pocket, he glanced at the display as he hit the connect and moved it to his ear. "Computing section," he stated quietly for the benefit of the other two men, confirming their fears. The tension in the room rose a notch.  
  
Nathan listened intently, his brow creasing in confusion as he absorbed what he was being told. He hit the disconnect and looked across at Jesse. "Well it looks like the killer has changed their MO and has stopped using the stuff you've written. The latest chapter ends with an attack on a detective Slade in the hospital parking lot."  
  
The reaction of both doctors took Nathan by surprise, as both visibly paled the colour draining from their cheeks.  
  
"Oh God, Steve!" Jesse exclaimed. "We have to find him and warn him now."  
  
Mark was already standing shakily, the file he had been holding, falling forgotten to the floor. "Lieutenant Slade is so obviously based on Steve," he explained as he began to move. "That's who they're going after next." He was at the door. "Come on I know where he parks."  
  
"I'll try his cell," Nathan said as he moved to follow.  
  
"No use," Jesse said, "it was destroyed when he was caught in the explosion."  
  
--  
  
The three man emerged into the parking lot at a run and frantically scanned the area for Steve or his truck. "I don't understand," Mark stated, "he always parks here."  
  
"Unless he left already?" Jesse suggested.  
  
"No," Mark shook his head, "he didn't have that much of a start on us."  
  
"And he would've responded to dispatch by now if he was in his car. They've been trying to radio him since I called this in." Nathan's own frustration with the situation was beginning to show. "Damn, if only we'd had advanced warning of this I could have had his car covered."  
  
Mark was caught up in his own concerns. "Why would he park somewhere different?" he asked, still looking round, as though there might be something he had missed.  
  
Jesse forced himself to look up into Mark's eyes as an overwhelming guilt swept over him again, this time for helping Steve to keep a secret from his father, a secret that could cost him his life. "I think I can explain. . ."  
  
--  
  
Steve pushed himself from the side of the elevator, trying to ignore the overwhelming tiredness that had swept over him in only the few moments of forced inactivity, as the car crawled slowly up towards his floor. His muscles once again protested being asked to move and he actually found himself wishing for the comparatively minor discomfort of cramped muscles that he had felt earlier that day. He headed for his truck, once again turning his thoughts to the checks he needed to do.  
  
Pain and fatigue robbed him of his memory of the need for caution, prevented his mind from focussing on anything other than his purpose for leaving the hospital. He was almost at his truck before a slight movement in his peripheral vision alerted him that there was anything wrong, alarms instantly going off in his head, but it was too late.  
  
He felt the dull thump on his back, as though someone had punched him hard. He tried to turn to see who it was and was mildly surprised when his muscles did not respond. His knees jarred and he looked down, even more surprised to realise that he had dropped down onto them, but surely the punch hadn't been that hard, and it was just below his shoulder so not his head, so why was he. . . Thoughts became more difficult to connect as he felt the cool concrete next to his cheek. He blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings, he could just see the tyre of his truck, the shiny wheel trim above, the concrete spreading out away from him and the growing crimson stain emerging from under his shoulder. . . blood. . . his blood, and then the memories connected.  
  
He cursed himself, he was supposed to be being careful so that this didn't happen, he had promised himself, had promised Jesse, and yet here he was the embodiment of Jesse's description of the ending of chapter 9. 'Steve lay in a growing pool of his own blood, each second more of the precious fluid leaking away as he slipped into unconsciousness.'  
  
He tried to move, tried to force himself up, to deny the prophetic nature of his friend's words but the stab of agony from his back forced him down, forced tears into his eyes as he rode out the waves of pain. "Sorry Jess," he whispered, as his eyes slid closed and blackness claimed him. 


	10. Guilt

Part 10 Guilt  
  
Mark caught the guilty tone that had returned to Jesse's voice and stopped his frantic scanning for signs that Steve had been there, realising that Jesse knew exactly why Steve's truck was not there. He focussed on his young friend who had paused, clearly trying to decide how to phrase his explanation.  
  
Jesse met his gaze with difficulty and swallowed. "The killer hasn't changed their MO," he said, forcing an even tone. "I did write about Lieutenant Slade being attacked in the hospital parking lot."  
  
Both Nathan and Mark were momentarily stunned by the confession. Nathan recovered first. "Then why didn't you put it in the notes you gave us about the upcoming chapters?"  
  
"I did," Jesse's eyes dropped to the floor. "It was in the notes I gave to Steve but he . . ."  
  
"He. . . what?" Mark asked, already denying the answer that was forming in his mind.  
  
Jesse looked back up, despite the guilt he needed to explain this. "He took the last sheet, the one on chapter 9 and kept it himself. He knew that if you saw it you'd worry about it." Jesse saw the uncharacteristic anger building in Mark's expression.  
  
"Why didn't you tell us about it?" Mark asked, his facial muscles taught, his tone curt.. "Why didn't you tell me?" He made the repeat of the question painfully personal.  
  
Jesse took another swallow, wishing that he had ignored Steve's request, wishing for all the world that he'd shared with them the danger his friend was in. The danger he'd put him in. "He asked me not to," he replied, mentally cringing at the inadequacy of the explanation.  
  
At the time he had not really considered the implications of what he was agreeing to, it had seemed fairly straightforward, they simply weren't telling Mark, so that he would not worry.  
  
Well he was worried now. What had he been thinking? He should have forced Steve to at least pass the information on to Nathan. Damn, why did Steve always seem so confident, so invincible? Jesse should know better than anyone else that he was just as vulnerable as anyone else. He had helped pull him back from the brink of death on more than one occasion He should have refused to help with the deceit, he should have argued more strongly, but he had been too wrapped up in his own emotions, his own self pity. If only. . . but he hadn't. Steve had kept the information to himself and now he was missing, and if they were going to find him in one piece then Jesse needed to focus.  
  
"He said that he would be careful, that nothing was going to happen to him," he continued quickly, trying to justify his complicity.  
  
"And what might have happened to him?" Mark asked quietly. "What did you write?"  
  
Jesse cringed as he was forced to remember the scene that had played out so clearly in his head when he'd been writing a harmless piece of fiction. Only now the fictional character was replaced by his best friend. "Steve Slade is walking back to his car when the killer attacks him from behind with a knife. He falls to the floor and. . ." Jesse paused as the image became more vivid.  
  
"And. . ." Mark prompted.  
  
"He passes out from the blood loss."  
  
"Does. . ." Mark took a breath and forced out the rest of the question. "Does he die?"  
  
Jesse met Mark's gaze with a mixture of fear and regret. "I don't know," he admitted. "That was as far as I'd written, the chapter ended on a cliffhanger."  
  
Mark closed his eyes and tried to control the maelstrom of emotion that welled up inside him. He didn't have time for this, he had to find Steve, but the gut wrenching fear of what might have, what might be, happening to his son, and the crushing haze of anger, directed partly at Jesse for allowing it, but mostly at Steve for putting himself in additional danger simply because they hadn't wanted him to be worried, were both difficult to repress. So he did the only thing that he could, the only thing that would allow him to continue to function. He took the anger and he channeled it, allowing it to give him strength and feed his actions. He opened his eyes again and the anger blazed there, he saw Jesse shrink back from it, but that couldn't be helped, he would apologise later, for now he had to find Steve.  
  
"All right," he said sharply, "We need to find Steve as quickly as possible and lets just hope the killer is having as much trouble as we are. I'm going to start from the top floor and work my way down."  
  
The comment was directed at Jesse but he did not answer, his mind was recoiling from the look that Mark had given him, the anger in his mentor's eyes further feeding the guilt that was regaining control.  
  
Nathan noted his reaction and replied for him, knowing that Mark's anger was borne at least partly from his frustration with the situation, he knew that the best course was to allow him to cool down, besides, taking direct action was what was needed, they would all rest easier once Steve was found. "OK, I'll get someone up there to help you. Jess and I will start at the bottom and work up and I'll pull in as many people as I can to cover the intervening floors." He began to dial on his cell, grabbing Jesse with his other hand as he started moving towards the elevator and stairs.  
  
--  
  
Mark paced back and forward in the elevator, still wrestling with his emotions. The fear building with every passing minute. He checked his watch, it had been more than fifteen minutes since Nathan had received the call about the new chapter, which meant that he still might have time to find Steve, to warn him before something happened. After all Steve had had time to find and help him. Then again, he had known exactly where to look. Damn, it would almost have been better if Jesse hadn't told Steve about the attack at all, at least then he would have parked in his usual place and they would have found him by now, but maybe knowing would make him cautious enough to protect himself, to prevent the attack.  
  
Mark tried to hold on to some measure of hope from that last thought. Steve was very competent and could take care of himself, had done so in many violent situations, he was well trained and expecting trouble, maybe that would be enough.  
  
Even as he tried to reassure himself, his memory pulled up an image to counter his faith. Steve had been moving slowly and stiffly, the lack of sleep and trauma from the explosion written clearly in his slightly pained expression, the dark circles under his eyes. When he had left Mark's office he had been well below his best. Add to that his clear distraction with the lead he thought he may have, and any chance of him fending off an attack by a clever and ruthless killer seemed unlikely.  
  
Mark tried not to let his pessimism overwhelm him, instead he focussed once again on the anger. It was an anger that every parent knew and understood, anger directed at a child who had done something foolish and put themselves in real danger, anger fed by a fear of loss and a feeling of inadequacy, however irrational, that they, as a parent had not been able to do more to protect them, to prevent the action whatever it was, after all that was what parents were supposed to do wasn't it? Protect their children. Mark had felt it before, had controlled it before, now he used it to give him the adrenaline needed to continue.  
  
The doors of the elevator swept open and he moved quickly into the lot, scanning as he went.  
  
--  
  
Jesse followed after Nathan but only because he was dragging on his arm, he was still trying to process this new and entirely different wave of guilt that was sweeping through his thought processes. Even if he accepted what everyone was telling him and did not take responsibility for the deaths and injuries so far, accepted that it was the killer doing this and not his fault, he definitely was responsible for what was happening to Steve now, and that meant that he deserved Mark's anger.  
  
He was barely aware of the elevator doors closing, of Nathan's hurried phone conversations, of the doors reopening, then he was being dragged out again, forced to move again.  
  
"OK, you take that side, I'll check over here," Nathan said, beginning to move off. He had taken several paces before he realised that Jesse had not moved from the position he had pulled him to. He turned back and frowned at the slightly glazed expression. He moved back and tried again. "Dr. Travis," he said, firmly "Jesse, are you all right?"  
  
Jesse pulled himself back, and focussed on the detective. "What?" There was a slight pause whilst his brain processed the question, "Yes, I'm fine, I'm sorry."  
  
"Nothing to be sorry about," Nathan stated. "You've had a hell of a time of it these last couple of days. Are you OK to keep helping me look?"  
  
Jesse nodded, if there was one thing the last few hours should have taught him it was that he did not have time for self pity, his own emotions would have to take a back seat for a while, at least until they had found Steve.  
  
Nathan pointed forwards. "You take that side then and I'll check the other, I'll meet you at the ramp to the next level."  
  
Jesse nodded again and turned to focus on his search.  
  
--  
  
Mark had covered the whole level by the time he was joined by the young police officer. "Dr. Sloan," he voiced the greeting as he approached, "I'm officer Campbell, Detective Turner sent me to help you find Lieutenant Sloan"  
  
Mark nodded, under normal circumstances he would have given a longer greeting, but his concern precluded such pleasantries. "I've checked this level, he's not here," he said. "I was just about to move down."  
  
He led the way, beginning to scan the cars as soon as they were in sight, the fact that Steve was in his truck and not in one of the more anonymous department cars that he often drove, made the task much quicker.  
  
When he spotted the familiar outline of the top of the truck, already tense muscles contracted even more. He began to move forward at a run, trying not to become too hopeful, he had already had one false alarm on the previous level, it had been the right model but as he had moved forward he had realised that it was the wrong colour. Now as he moved closer something told him that this was not a false alarm, it was Steve's truck. His adrenaline spiked once more. "Over here," he shouted for Campbell's benefit.  
  
Mark rounded the end of the row of cars where he had spotted the truck and came to an abrupt stop, less than thirty feet away he spotted the crumpled form of his son lying face down on the cold concrete. The sight should have caused him to increase his speed but for a moment everything in his mind seized and he was unable to move forward. Ice slipped across his skin from his head down, and his insides began to somersault. The pounding of footsteps behind him, finally shook him from his stupor and he realised that he needed to move. He set off again at a run.  
  
The pool of blood became more obvious as he approached and knelt down, increasing his sense of dread, feeling for a pulse with shaking hands. It took a moment, and the pulse he found was weak and thready, but he was so relieved to find one at all, that he let out a deep sigh. "Thank God," he whispered, they had found him in time. He looked up at officer Campbell, "Help me get this jacket off him," he said, trying as gently as possible to reposition Steve's arm, he needed to get a look at the wound, at the same time he tried to estimate just how much blood had been lost.  
  
"Call Detective Turner, get him to get Dr. Travis up here, then run inside and get the nearest crash team out here now." Mark said, pressing his hand firmly against the ragged tear in his son's back to try to slow down the flow.  
  
Detective Campbell pulled out his radio, he hadn't wanted to say anything earlier but part of his brief had been to stay with the older doctor and protect him, and he didn't like the idea of leaving him and the Lieutenant alone again with the killer clearly close by. "I don't think I should. . ." he began to protest.  
  
"If he doesn't get help soon he's going to bleed to death," Mark interrupted, neither his tone nor the brief look he flashed the young officer left any room for argument.  
  
Campbell did not hesitate any longer, he set off running, speaking into his radio as he went.  
  
Mark dropped his gaze back to Steve as he felt him stir beneath him. He used his free hand to brush the hair back from his son's eyes, then moved it again to gently restrain him as he shifted with a moan, his eyes fluttering as he clawed his way back to consciousness. "Shh Steve, lie still. It's going to be OK but you need to lie still for me."  
  
Somewhere in Steve's mind the familiar sound of his father's voice pulled him from the blackness. Pain clouded his thoughts as he struggled to focus, finding it difficult to remember where he was or what was happening to him. The only things he could latch on to were the pain, and the contrasting soothing tones of his father's voice. He forced his eyes open and looked at the blurred figure next to him. "Dad?" he managed to gasp out through dry lips, trying to shift his position to get a better view. Even the attempt at movement caused a bright pain that overloaded his senses and he gasped again, suddenly registering how hard it was to take a breath. "What. . . Why. . ." he tried to ask, but the words barely had enough air behind them to be whispered.  
  
"It's OK Steve," Mark fought down his own rising panic, if Steve tried to move at the moment he could only make things worse, not that it could be much worse, from the sound of Steve's breathing and the position of the wound, it was a certainty that there was some damage to his right lung and he had lost a lot of blood. "Steve, everything's going to be OK just lie still for me." He kept his tone even, soothing, despite his fears.  
  
"Hurts," Steve whispered.  
  
That one word was almost Mark's undoing, he didn't need Steve to tell him how much pain he was in, he could see it etched on his features, could feel the tenseness in the muscles, had felt and heard the gasp of reaction when he had pressed on the wound to stop the bleeding, and again when Steve had tried to move. The fact that Steve gave voice to that pain was almost more than he could bear, knowing that he was powerless to help him with it until help arrived, for now all he could do was to try to keep him alive.  
  
"I know it does, son," he continued, gently stroking his hand across his forehead. "Just lie still for me and it will be better soon."  
  
Steve gave a very slight nod and settled, his breathing still raspy and shallow. He could still only really register the pain and the difficulty in breathing but he knew that as long as his father was there everything would be all right.  
  
Mark felt the cold steel of the gun barrel on his neck before he acknowledged the presence next to him.  
  
"Dr. Sloan, please remain perfectly still," a female voice hissed at him.  
  
He stopped his movement and waited, he hadn't thought that he could be any more afraid, but he had been wrong. Fear now enveloped him like a living presence, wrapping it's tendrils around him and squeezing.  
  
"This isn't right," the voice continued, he could feel the hot breath on his ear as the woman almost draped herself over him. "You're not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be in a coma, where are the burns from the explosion?"  
  
Mark swallowed, painfully aware of Steve's presence in front of him, he prayed that the woman's attention would stay on him and that she hadn't come back to finish the job on Steve. "I just got a concussion," Mark answered. "No burns."  
  
"I know, your precious son interfered," the tone now sounded bitter, but changed to an almost purring sound as she continued. "But don't worry, I can still put things right. I just need you to come with me."  
  
Mark couldn't help himself the protest left his lips before he had time to consider it. "But Steve. . ."  
  
"You just don't get it do you," The woman's voice interrupted. "You weren't supposed to find him. It's not right it doesn't fit."  
  
"I won't leave him," Mark stated firmly, his mind refusing to even contemplate the action. "If I do he could die."  
  
"And if you don't I'll make sure that he does." The cold metal was removed from his neck and Mark got his first view of the person that threatened him as she stepped away. A slim, dark figure, dressed entirely in black, wearing a hooded mask that revealed only cold dark eyes stared down at him. The gun that had been aiming at him, dropped to point at Steve, and Mark swallowed.  
  
"You have the choice Doc, come with me, or I shoot him now. What's it to be?"  
  
Mark looked down at his son and then up at the gun barrel which was leveled at his chest. It was an impossible choice, leaving Steve in this condition should not be an option, he might bleed to death before anyone else got to him, and yet Mark had no doubt that if he did not comply then this woman would pull the trigger. So it was no choice at all. Certain death over a slim chance at survival. He looked up with an emotion that he rarely expressed, hatred, for what he was being forced to do, burned in his eyes. "I'm sorry Steve," he whispered, bending closer to Steve's ear so that he could hear him. "I'm going to have to leave you for a while, but don't worry, everything's going to be fine, just lie still."  
  
Steve hadn't been able to focus on what was happening, he had heard his father talking and some other strange voice but he hadn't registered what they were saying, pain still dominated his world. He forced himself to concentrate as his father said his name, managed to register that he was leaving. 'No,' his mind protested. All he had at the moment to temper the pain and the fear, to anchor him through the disorientation of confused senses and jumbled memories, was his father's soothing tones and gentle touch, he didn't want him to leave. "Don't. . . .don't. . . go" he gasped out.  
  
Mark could have sworn he felt his heart tear at the plea.  
  
"Come on," the woman, said glancing round, clearly agitated. "The help you sent for will be here soon and if we're not out of here I guarantee he dies."  
  
Mark nodded, quickly pressing his handkerchief against the wound and attempting to secure it underneath the shirt to at least put some pressure on it. At Steve's gasp he spoke again. "It'll be all right son." He forced the words from vocal chords that really did not want to cooperate as he felt himself being grabbed from behind.  
  
"Come on Dr. Sloan, time to go." The woman pushed the gun barrel into his side as she pulled him backwards, he did his best to cooperate, not wanting to give her any reason to point the gun at Steve again.  
  
Mark wasn't sure how he even made it to his feet much less how he managed to force his legs to move, as he was pulled backwards across the lot, all the time he kept his eyes locked on the still pale form of his only son, still not quite able to accept that he was being forced to leave him bleeding onto the concrete. He said a prayer, that help would arrive soon, his mind becoming numb as the distance increased. He barely felt the needle go into his arm. As he slipped into unconsciousness, still his only thoughts were for Steve.  
  
Steve lay still, riding out the latest waves of pain. As they ebbed he sought the comforting presence of his father. A different sort of pain registered when he realised that he was not there. He opened his eyes and though his vision was still blurred he knew that he was alone, knew that he still lay on the cold concrete and there was no one to help him. Why had his dad left him when he needed him? "Why?" he whispered into the emptiness around him. 


	11. Out Damned Spot

Part 11 Out Damned Spot.  
  
The doors of the two elevators opened only fractionally apart, officer Campbell and the medical team emerging fractionally before Jesse and Nathan. No time was wasted on conversation as they moved at a brisk run pushing the trolley and gurney out into the lot.  
  
"This way," Campbell shouted, taking the lead as they moved passed the rows of cars. He led them to the row where he had left Mark and Steve. Stepping back and pointing, to allow them to reach Steve first, as his body came in sight. "Down there," he stated unnecessarily, mildly surprised to find that the older doctor was not with his son where he had left him.  
  
Jesse had overtaken the rest of the medical personnel, and Nathan kept pace with him. They caught their first sight of Steve together and both drew in a sharp intake of breath, the pooling blood was visible even from a distance, as was the plate size smear of bright red that contrasted sharply with the pale pastel blue of his shirt.  
  
"Oh God," Jesse whispered, as he rushed to kneel at his friend's side. A myriad of thoughts and emotions vied for his attention as he knelt down, but he suppressed them all as he forced his brain into professional mode. Once more drawing on years of experience and training to allow him to function, despite the personal nature of the trauma.  
  
It was always hard treating Steve, always hard repressing the emotions that welled to the surface when he saw his best friend hurt and in pain, but he had, until now, always managed to control those emotions. In the present circumstances, it was nearly impossible. With a monumental effort he pushed everything back, knowing that if he allowed any of the stray thoughts or emotions through the barrier he was rapidly erecting, he would not be able to function and that simply was not an option.  
  
One question, however, was too persistent, too demanding to be blocked or ignored. He looked up, and caught Nathan's gaze only momentarily, before focussing back on his patient. "Where's Mark?" He asked, fearfully. He looked back down on Steve, there was no way Mark would have left his son in this condition, no way. So where was he?  
  
Nathan had no answer, was momentarily stunned by the amount of blood, the sight of his stricken colleague. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He felt firm hands on his shoulders as he was gently but firmly grasped and moved out of the way by one of the nurses. Shaken out of his stupor he stepped back further and looked round. He caught the eye of officer Campbell who was moving up to join them having waited for all of the medical team to pass. With a last glance down at Steve who had now become the centre of a whirling mass of activity, he moved to ask the young officer about Mark.  
  
Jesse was rapidly giving instructions as he attempted to stabilize Steve's condition enough to move him. Something he could not risk until his blood pressure at least registered.  
  
Several times as he was working the same question passed his lips, not really crossing through his conscious mind as he uttered the same two words, punctuating his instructions. "Where's Mark?" When he removed Mark's handkerchief and inspected Steve's wound. "Where's Mark?" As he finished listening to his chest. "Where's Mark?"  
  
Finally Jesse deemed that they could not wait any longer, that Steve was stable enough and they lifted him on to the gurney. They were just about to move off when Steve's eyes fluttered open, he weakly moved his left hand as though reaching for something, his mouth moving as he tried to speak.  
  
Jesse took hold of the hand and gently squeezed it. "Easy, buddy, don't try to talk," he said soothingly, the same gentle tones as Mark had used.  
  
Steve had lost all sense of time all sense of reality, even the pain seemed detached, as though it wasn't really a part of him, part of his mind told him that his father was there, another part that he had left moments ago, or was that hours ago, he needed to know, he dragged himself back to consciousness, forced uncooperative eyelids to open. "Dad?" he whispered.  
  
Jesse caught the word even through the oxygen mask that covered Steve's mouth and nose. "No, Steve, it's Jesse," he said moving closer. "Everything's going to be all right."  
  
Steve had a moment of lucidity, full consciousness returning fleetingly, "Dad?" he asked again, some instinct telling him that something was wrong, but he could not hold onto the thought, darkness encroached on his world once again, even as he heard Jesse's soothing reassurances that would not quite form into coherent sentences. They drifted away until they were just a distant hum and then nothing.  
  
Jesse watched as Steve drifted off again, suddenly aware that everyone was looking at him, that the rush of activity had ceased for a moment whilst he had exchanged a few words with his friend. He looked at one of the nurses who automatically reeled off Steve's latest vitals. With a renewed urgency. Jesse urged the team to move and they headed back for the elevators at a run.  
  
Nathan and officer Campbell had been joined by other officers who were already cordoning off the area and searching for clues about the killer, the attack and the missing doctor. A small part of Jesse's mind acknowledged them on the way past. It wasn't until the elevator doors were closing and Jesse looked across at them that he let his mind focus on that question again. "Dammit Mark, where are you?"  
  
--  
  
Amanda made her way down the corridor that led to one of the two, still functioning, ORs with some trepidation. It hadn't been long since she'd been given the news about the attack on Steve. She had been on her way to help join in the search for him when she had received the simultaneously devastating news of Steve's injuries and of Mark's disappearance. She had been attempting to deal with the emotions that invoked when the latest call had come.  
  
She approached the young nurse standing in the doorway softly, not wishing to startle her She spoke to draw the woman's focus from inside the sluice room "Nurse Dane?" She asked touching her gently on the arm.  
  
The nurse turned, relief spreading across her face as she spoke. "Dr. Bentley, I'm so glad you're here." She nodded into the interior of the room. "We weren't sure who to call, Dr. Taylor is in Surgery with Lieutenant Sloan and. . ." there was a slight pause, "With Dr. Sloan missing we. . ." She faltered.  
  
"It's all right," Amanda said trying to sound more reassuring than she felt. "I'll take care of him." She turned her attention to the familiar figure, dressed in green scrubs over the opposite side of the room. She looked back at the nurse. "Could you leave us alone, I'll call if I need you."  
  
Nurse Dane nodded and moved out of the doorway, allowing Amanda to pass through before letting the door close behind her.  
  
Amanda moved towards the large sinks where Jesse stood, her stomach doing lazy somersaults, as she dealt with the fear that, whatever was wrong, it would be beyond her capacity to help.  
  
She stood and watched him for a few moments as he went through the well practiced ritual of washing his hands in preparation for surgery. At the point where he should have stopped, he looked down at them turning them over as if fascinated, then he shook his head, turned the tap back on with his elbow and started again.  
  
"Jess," Amanda said softly, there was no response and she wasn't sure if he had heard her or not, he certainly hadn't acknowledged her presence. She swallowed and forced herself to remain calm. "Jess," she repeated a little more loudly.  
  
This time there was a slight pause just after she said it, then he continued to rub his hands which were beginning to redden under the continuous scrubbing.  
  
"Jess," she repeated once more. "Look at me."  
  
For a moment she thought that he was going to continue to ignore her, as he had ignored the nurses who had tried to get through to him earlier, or was he so lost in his thoughts that he really didn't know they were there? She was about to speak again when he turned to look at her. Relief flooded her system that there was a spark of recognition in his eyes.  
  
"Amanda?" he said as though surprised to see her. Why was Amanda here when he was preparing for surgery? The reply hit him like an express train. Of course, the surgery was on Steve, she was worried about him. He searched through his memories, what could he tell her? He drew in a deep breath before speaking. "We got Steve stabilised but it looks like the knife nicked his lung, and he lost a lot of blood."  
  
'Blood,' the word rattled hollowly around his skull. Blood, Steve's blood, he looked down at his hands, Steve's blood was all over his hands, he needed to clean it off so that he could get into surgery. So that he could try to save his friend's life. "I'm sorry I. . ." He turned back to the sink and began to wash his hands again. "I need to get cleaned up. I'm needed in surgery."  
  
Amanda had been encouraged by Jesse's initial response, but watched in dismay as he stared at his hands again, before returning to soaping them. She moved closer to him placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Jess, I need you to stop for a moment," she said, "I need you to tell me what happened."  
  
Jesse turned his gaze and met hers. "I can't, I'm needed in surgery."  
  
"No," she stated, her tone soft but firm. "Dr. Taylor is in there and Dr. Hope is assisting, Steve's being taken care of."  
  
Jesse studied her eyes for a moment, noting the sincerity, as his brain processed the words. Dr. Taylor was a good doctor, Dr. Hope more than competent, the surgery was straightforward, Steve would be fine. Even as the thought served to calm him, his confused mind was throwing up more fears, but what if there were complications, things they couldn't handle? He really needed to be there, if only he could get his hands clean.  
  
"It's all right Jess," Amanda tried again with the reassurance, as Jesse looked back at his hands. She wondered what he kept seeing there. "Steve's going to be fine." She took the opportunity, whilst he was staring again, to gently take hold of his wrists and turn him away from the sink. "You can stop scrubbing up now."  
  
Jesse stared at his hands pulling gently but not hard enough to break her grip. "You don't understand," he said quietly, "I. I . . can't get them clean." He slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. "They're covered in blood," he looked at them again with an almost horrified fascination. "Steve's blood," he barely whispered, "And I can't get them clean."  
  
Amanda didn't know what to do, the tears she had been suppressing welled in her eyes, her heart almost breaking at the frightened, lost quality in Jesse's tone. So she did what came naturally to her, allowing her maternal instincts to take over, she let go of Jesse's wrists and pulled him into a hug. One hand moving to the back of his head and cradling it on her shoulder. She put all of her emotions and part of herself into the embrace, willing the comfort to flow into her friend, to give him the release he needed from the guilt and the pain. "It's all right Jess, they'll come clean. It's not your fault. It's all going to be all right."  
  
Jesse offered only a slight resistance before leaning into the embrace, confused thoughts rapidly giving way to the bursting damn of emotion that he held so carefully in check. The shock of finding Steve, of Mark being missing, on top of the trauma of the last two days had simply been too much to bottle up, manifesting itself in illusion as the only means of release when Jesse had tried to carry on unaffected. Amanda being there for him somehow gave him permission to release that emotion as she held him.  
  
The sobs started slowly, softly, until his whole body shook and Amanda could feel the tears soaking through her lab coat to her shoulder, all the time she simply held him, rocking him gently, occasionally reassuring him that everything would be all right, until eventually the sobs died down and there was only silence in the room.  
  
Jesse cried out the pain and the shock, the guilt and the fear, until his thoughts became more ordered, coherent. He lifted his head from Amanda's shoulder and pulled back slightly. "Thank you" he said softly.  
  
"You're welcome." Amanda studied him, the concern evident in her eyes. "How are you feeling?" she asked, looking down at his hands in an involuntary reflex.  
  
Jesse looked at the red, slightly raw skin. "I'll be OK," he said, "But I'm kinda tired." He admitted as a crushing weariness overtook him.  
  
Amanda nodded, it was a natural reaction to the emotional release, if she could get him to get some sleep then she might have succeeded in getting him over the worst of this emotional crisis. "Come on we'll get you somewhere you can rest and then I'll check on Steve."  
  
--  
  
Amanda sat in the corner of the room and watched the two men, who were the closest thing she would ever have to brothers, sleep. Steve had come through the surgery remarkably well. The knife had only caused slight damage to the lung and, although he'd needed a chest tube to allow it to reinflate properly, they had managed to avoid having to put him on a ventilator. The main problem had been the blood loss, they had found him with very little time to spare and it was the initial efforts of Jesse and the medical team that had saved his life, by the time they'd got him to surgery the rest had been fairly straightforward procedures. It was no wonder that Jesse had had such an extreme reaction.  
  
Amanda had managed to get Jesse readmitted and he had been given a mild sedative, which he hadn't had the energy to object to, and was now resting peacefully. She had spoken to Dr. Carter, the hospitals principal psychiatrist about Jesse's earlier behaviour and she had confirmed that it was probably a reaction to the high levels of stress at the situation, and nothing to be too worried about as long as the symptoms did not persistently reappear. Nonetheless, she had agreed to come and see Jesse when he was feeling a little stronger.  
  
It was only now that Amanda allowed herself to consider the fact that Mark was also missing. The only logical conclusion that could be drawn from the circumstances of his disappearance was that the killer had taken him, but why? And more importantly what did they intend to do to him? Amanda had to block out the many possible answers to that question, most of the things her mind came up with were just too horrible to contemplate.  
  
"Amanda," Jesse's voice startled her from her thoughts and she greeted him with the warmest smile she could manage.  
  
"Hey, feeling better?" she asked.  
  
Jesse pushed himself to a sitting position. "How long have I been out?"  
  
Amanda looked at her watch. "About four hours."  
  
Jesse nodded and stretched, before looking over at Steve's bed. "Steve?"  
  
"Is going to be just fine, he should be out until morning though, Dr. Taylor's got him sedated, doesn't want him pulling on the wound or risking dislodging the chest tube."  
  
Jesse nodded, knowing that part of the reason for the sedation would be to prevent Steve from trying to move, which he would do, once he found out that his father was missing. He already knew the answer to his next question, but he had to ask anyway. "Any sign of Mark?"  
  
Amanda shook her head. "Not since officer Campbell left him in the car park. The CCTV camera from that level had been interfered with and they haven't found any other witnesses."  
  
Jesse sighed and looked thoughtful, after a few moments he turned to her. "Do you mind getting a few things for me."  
  
"Sure what?"  
  
"Well I need to see the latest chapter of the story and the personnel files are still in Mark's. . . ."  
  
"Jess," Amanda admonished, "You're getting as bad as Steve, you need to rest."  
  
"No, Amanda, I really need to be doing something. Please, I can't just sit here not when Mark's missing and. . ."  
  
She held her hands up in defeat. "All right, I'm going, just try to relax while I'm gone."  
  
"Thanks,"  
  
--  
  
The killer watched silently as Amanda entered Mark's office alone. It was getting late and the corridor was deserted except for the odd staff member who passed without giving her a second glance.  
  
Perfect, with Dr. Sloan out of the picture and his friend the cop out of it, it was time to remove Dr. Travis' last line of emotional support, and with that thought the killer stepped towards Mark's door. 


	12. Waking Nightmares

Part 12 Waking Nightmares.  
  
Nathan disconnected his cell phone with a frown, working in homicide meant that when it rang it was rarely good news, but on this case he had occasion to dread the chirpy tones more than usual. His heart had gone into full jackhammer mode, adrenaline flooding his system, even before he recognised the number of the computing section, that number could only mean another chapter and with it almost certainly another attack.  
  
The voice at the other end confirmed his fears. This time the attack would be on a female doctor, whoever the killer had pegged for Dr. Corday, but the location was unclear. Nathan relayed the information into his radio, knowing that his men would begin their checks on all of the female doctors still in the building. He decided to check on Amanda personally, calling through to the officer guarding Steve and Jesse's door, surprised to learn that she had left to go to Mark's office. He rechecked his own location, wishing that he was as familiar with the hospital's layout as Steve was, he quickly managed to orient himself, figuring that he was quite close, he turned and headed down the corridor.  
  
--  
  
The killer took one last look down the empty corridor before pulling the mask into place. She was taking more risks now but it did not concern her, if anything it made the whole thing more exhilarating, more exciting. Months of careful planning had led her to this and she intended to enjoy every moment of her revenge.  
  
Slowly, quietly, she slid the door open and peered inside. Her luck was in, Dr. Bentley was kneeling on the floor gathering up the folders that lay where Mark and Jesse had dropped them.  
  
Intent on her task, Amanda did not hear the door opening or the figure that slid silently into the room behind her. The killer stepped cautiously forward, twisting the silk scarf tightly between her hands.  
  
Amanda reached out for the last scattered file, pausing slightly as she realised from the position that it must have been Mark who had dropped it, Mark who was missing, Mark who could be lying hurt somewhere, Mark who could be. . . She cut off the line of thought before her imagination could supply images that she did not want to even contemplate, instead she forced her mind back in time to that moment when Mark dropped the file, he had been here in his office, safe, and well, but the image brought no comfort, he was missing now and she found herself having to repress renewed thoughts of what might be happening to him. She had to believe that he was alive somewhere and that they would find him. Her hand moved to pick up the last sheet, her thoughts still preoccupied, and then her whole world was encompassed in pain and the desperate imperative to breathe.  
  
Her lungs tightened as she tried to draw in air against the sudden restriction around her throat. She felt her body being dragged up and backwards, moving instinctively to try to ease the pressure as the taught cloth dug into her neck. Her hands moved up clawing uselessly at the too tight fabric, no space to squeeze her fingers under, no way to relieve the unrelenting pressure. Her vision began to cloud, blood thundering in her ears, fear burning through her insides as she desperately tried to form thoughts coherent enough to allow her to fight back. Her hands dropped down desperately groping for some sort of weapon, some sort of defense. She could not die like this.  
  
--  
  
Jesse looked up at the clock again, realising that it had only been a minute since his last check and only around ten minutes since Amanda had left. He sighed with frustration, knowing that his impatience would not make her return any more quickly, and climbed out of bed, absently moving over to check Steve's chart.  
  
Steve's bed was closer to the door and as he moved he heard the unmistakable crackle of the radio, it was only moments before the officer guarding the door opened it and looked inside. "Do you happen to know where Dr. Bentley went?" He asked.  
  
"To Dr. Sloan's office," Jesse supplied, his curiosity peaked. He listened as the officer relayed the information into his radio, moving towards the older man. "What's happening? Who wants to know?" Jesse asked as the man finished.  
  
"Detective Turner," the officer replied, "apparently there's been another posting. Wait. . . ." he said as Jesse moved passed him on to the corridor. "You can't go without . . ." the word 'protection' should have completed the sentence but there was no point, the young doctor clearly wasn't listening to him. The officer glanced back into the room to the pale form of the police Lieutenant lying on the bed, an argument warring within him, should he go after the doctor, or stay here to protect the unconscious detective. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that it was a police officer lying in the bed, or the fact that he was unconscious and therefore more vulnerable, that swayed him, but he decided to stay where he was. Lifting his radio to report on the errant young doctor, who seemed to be the focus for this whole sorry mess.  
  
--  
  
Mark was awake, he knew that only by virtue of the fact that he was thinking, was capable of the thought 'I am awake.' His head was pounding, but all other sensation seemed dulled. None of the other vestiges of wakefulness were present, he could not move, not one of his muscles would cooperate despite many minutes of trying. He could not raise his hand, or lift his foot, he couldn't even manage the relatively minor tasks of forcing his eyelids to open, or his vocal cords to work. He had to forcibly quell the feeling of panic that the growing realisation of his helplessness produced. Using all of his self discipline to first calm, and then order his thoughts, he began to analyse his situation, treating it just like any other of the myriad of puzzles that his brain dealt with on a daily basis.  
  
What would give rise to his current predicament, conscious but unable to move, unable to speak. Paralysis of some sort? A fall, a neck injury perhaps? No, that would not explain his inability to open his eyes. What else? Drugs? Muscle relaxants were a distinct possibility, fitting all of the symptoms. Anything else? Stroke? No, to cause this level of paralysis it would have to be severe and that would leave him far more confused, surely not able to think this clearly and analyse his symptoms. So drugs then, someone had drugged him, but why? He struggled with his memory. What had happened before he woke up here? And where was here?  
  
As he concentrated, his memory returned at first in flashes, not seeming to make sense, and then the sensations returned, the emotions returned, before their rationalisation into images and thoughts. His heart rate kicked up, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin as his insides twisted with fear, anxiety and concern. The emotions dragged the memories with them, until he was staring down at the almost lifeless body of his son, whose precious lifeblood was leaking away on to the concrete. He felt again the overwhelming guilt and hopelessness as he was forced to leave him there. If he could have cried out his anguish he would have done. Instead his mind screamed but his body remained silent. A wave of utter and total despair sweeping over him as he realised that he was almost certainly too late to do anything, however long he had been unconscious, it had been too long for his actions to be have any influence on the fate of his son. He struggled to move again, to open his eyes or make some sort of sound but nothing happened.  
  
He had to find out, he had to know what had happened to Steve and yet he could take no action, could only lie there a prisoner in his own drugged body. He could not have devised a more cruel torture for himself if he had tried, all attempts at remaining calm were abandoned as he lost control of emotions, grief warring with hope, fear with denial, despair with acceptance.  
  
His rapid breathing must have attracted the attention of his captors, he heard movement by his side, heard a gentle hushed tone.  
  
"I told you he was awake," a concerned voice said.  
  
"Poor man he must be in terrible pain," a second female voice answered from his other side.  
  
"This will help," the first voice continued.  
  
Mark felt the drug begin to take effect, the forced artificial calming of both his breathing and his racing heart. He tried to stop it, tried to fight it, tried to signal in some way that he did not want to be drugged again, that his only source of real pain was not knowing what had happened to his son, but it was hopeless, his thoughts drifted apart, fragmented images, pain and anguish were swallowed into a darkening void.  
  
--  
  
Nathan was momentarily stunned by the sight that greeted him as he opened the door. It was the expression of pain and terror on Amanda's darkening face, her hands batting ineffectually at those that held the scarf around her neck as she struggled against the dark figure behind her, the image had a slightly surreal quality that caught him off guard.  
  
The moments hesitation was all that the killer needed, she spun round dragging Amanda with her. Amanda had no choice but to follow as the movement further increased the pressure on her neck. The pain in her lungs was indescribable, the desire to drag in air now replacing all other thought and sensation. She could no longer think, could no longer see. Her whole world focussed on the impossible task of drawing air through the restricted passages in her throat.  
  
The killer used the additional momentum from the spin to throw Amanda into Nathan, the collision sending both of them tumbling to the floor in a mess of tangled limbs. She then bolted for the door, not even pausing to see if her distraction had worked, she fled pulling off the mask and the rest of her disguise as she went.  
  
Amanda struggled to draw breath into her lungs, past the restriction that was still partially in place, not capable of the thought processes that would allow her to drag the constricting scarf from her throat, and even if she were, it was unlikely that her oxygen starved limbs would respond.  
  
Nathan did his best to extricate himself from underneath Amanda, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head from where it had struck the wall. He was momentarily torn between going after the fleeing killer and checking on Amanda but one look at her distressed state and he knew that he had to help her. As gently as he could he rested her on the ground pulling the tightly wound fabric from around her throat. The pained, almost pitiful gasping sounds that escaped her as she tried desperately to draw in air, causing his concern to deepen. He ran quickly to the door and shouted for help before returning to her. He crouched beside her, lifting her gently to try to help ease her breathing.  
  
"Oh God no! Not Amanda too, no."  
  
Nathan looked up to see Jesse's shocked features staring down at him from the doorway. "She needs help, she can't breathe properly," he said urgently, terrified by his own inability to do anything for her.  
  
Jesse did not need telling twice, with an ease that was becoming uncomfortably familiar, he repressed his emotions and concentrated his mind on his skills, moving forward to help another of his friends.  
  
--  
  
Jesse slumped back onto the pillow as the nurse left the room, opening his hand to look at the sedative pills that he had palmed instead of taking, he knew that Dr. Taylor was right, he needed to rest, his memories of what had happened earlier in the day after he had treated Steve were shaky at best and, despite the rest that afternoon and his assurances to Amanda of the contrary, he knew that he wasn't handling the shock of that attack and Mark's disappearance well, and now with the attack on Amanda. . . . It was like someone was taking his world apart piece by piece and worse it felt like he was telling them to do it. Writing the story, posting it on the web, an open invitation to destroy him, the arbiter of his own downfall  
  
Details of what had happened after he had found Amanda were again shaky, as though he'd repressed the memories with the emotions, but he knew that she would be all right, 'resting comfortably,' Dr. Taylor had said. A medical euphemism, Amanda would not be comfortable for quite some time, Jesse subconsciously touched his own throat, he could still feel the bruising there from that morning and the attack on Amanda had been so much worse, she was going to be feeling the effects for days if not weeks.  
  
He looked down realising that he still held the sedative in his hand. How could he rest when he knew that the killer was still out there, still had Mark, still might try to kill someone else. He contemplated getting up and heading back to look at the files in Mark's office but knew that it was futile, the office was probably still sealed off as a crime scene, the files, for the moment inaccessible. All he could do was try to go back through his memories once again and see if anything struck him, but the frustration of having done that a hundred times already with no result almost made him want to weep.  
  
He let out a deep sigh, he was too exhausted to make any progress, he knew that, but he didn't want to go to sleep, was too afraid of the nightmares lurking in his subconscious. Then again, could they be any worse than the waking nightmare that he was living. Guilt was now a constant companion, a living breathing presence that sat on his shoulder, whispering destructive thoughts into his ear. 'You killed those people, it's your fault they're dead,' 'Steve was hurt because of you.' 'Amanda nearly died tonight and it was your fault.' He did his best to ignore them, closing his eyes tightly, "Leave me alone," his mouth formed the words aimed at his invisible companion, but no sound came out, it wasn't needed when you were talking to your own psyche.  
  
He opened his eyes again and impulsively swallowed the pills in his hand. He swallowed them dry and they almost caught in his throat but he managed to get them down. He needed help he knew that, trouble was, there was no one now that he could draw on for support, so maybe he could find some modicum of comfort in sleep.  
  
He glanced across to Steve's bed, another friend who for the time being was 'resting comfortably,' of course all that would change in the morning when he would wake to the pain of his injuries and the knowledge that his father was missing. There would be no way of keeping that from him, much as Jesse would have liked to try. As the powerful sedative began to take effect, he muttered his own quiet apology to his friend. "I'm sorry, Steve, I'm so sorry."  
  
--  
  
Morning brought a painful awakening for Amanda, both mentally and physically. She couldn't quite shake the feelings of terror that accompanied the memories of her attack and her neck felt like it was three times the size that it should be, although a gentle probing confirmed tender bruising but only a slight swelling of the soft tissue.  
  
She dressed moving carefully, gratefully accepting the soft cotton scarf that one of the nurses had been kind enough to fetch for her from the hospital's gift shop. Not silk, she had been quite clear about that, having seen the scarf that had been used in the attack, she wasn't sure that she would ever wear silk again, but she could just about bear the soft cotton on her neck and she needed to cover the fresh bruising if she was going to move around the hospital, and particularly if she was going to see Jesse. Something that she knew, from his reactions towards Steve's attack the day before, was going to be very necessary. She had to reassure her young friend that she was all right and, if she could, convince him that he was not responsible for what had happened to her.  
  
She needed all of her strength and resolve to walk into Mark's office without showing a reaction, but she knew that Jesse was already there and she was determined to make this as easy for him as she could. Jesse had insisted, as soon as he had awoken, that he go down and continue the checks on the files that he had started the day before. Nathan had told Amanda about it when he had come up to take her statement. She had had to wait until she was officially discharged and so had agreed to meet them there. Not really considering that it might be difficult to go back to the scene of the attack so soon, until she was standing outside the door.  
  
She squared her shoulders and walked into the room.  
  
"Amanda," Jesse said standing, the guilt and concern written unmistakably on his expressive face. "You shouldn't be out of bed yet. You should be. . ."  
  
"I'm fine Jess," she interrupted, her voice weak and gravelly despite her best efforts to project it. She moved across the room to join them at the desk, "Really," she continued as his expression turned skeptical, "apart from the deep and husky voice, I'll be fine and I'm here to help."  
  
Jesse did not look convinced but he sat down again as she carefully took a seat.  
  
"We were just going through the personnel files, that Steve dug out to try to see if anyone stands out as a suspect, at least it should be easier now that we can eliminate all of the men." Nathan looked up at Amanda, "I didn't catch much of a view of the person who attacked you but from what I did see and from the size of the discarded clothing that we found dropped in the hospital stairwell, we can definitely say that it was a woman."  
  
"She left clothing behind?" Amanda asked.  
  
"Yes, a nurses uniform, must have been wearing it over the top of something else, so I'm guessing that she's not really a nurse, but knew that coming after you she ran a big risk of being spotted."  
  
"Then why are we looking at the employee files, couldn't she have been doing that all along?" Jesse asked, a note of despondency creeping into his tone, maybe this was just another dead end.  
  
"No, I don't think so, the hospital was locked down tight minutes after the attack, and I still agree with Steve's assessment, whoever is doing this has to have been watching you and although you could get away with impersonating an employee once or twice, you couldn't do it over a long period of time without being spotted. So I still think this," Nathan pointed at the files, "is our best chance of a lead."  
  
"Okay, let's go through them." Jesse said, picking up the first file, he placed those for female employees on the desk and discarded the male ones. He paused when he got to the one for Paul Bilson, the porter who had attacked him, there was still something that bothered him about it. It had been the file he was looking at when they realised that Steve was in danger the day before.  
  
He almost dismissed it, but something made him open the file again. What was it? Yes, the guy had attacked him but that just meant he was violent and obnoxious, it didn't mean he was involved with the killings, besides, the first victim had been one of his friends. "That's it," he said, opening the file. He looked up to see the curious expressions on Nathan and Amanda's faces. "Yesterday when he attacked me, Paul Bilson said that he'd been friends with the first victim, Paul Peterson, for four years and yet Bilson has only been working here for six months and he worked in an entirely separate part of the hospital, the chances of them having met at work are fairly small and before that he worked at a clinic out of state."  
  
"Why would he lie?" Amanda asked.  
  
"Maybe to give him an excuse to attack Jesse," Nathan replied, "from the statements we took it all seems to have been Bilson's idea, he would have had to convince the others that he had a reasonable motive." He thought for a moment, "It is suspicious, if he wasn't doing it because Peterson and he were friends then why?" He looked first at Amanda and then at Jesse who shrugged. "I'll get someone to dig more deeply into his background."  
  
Jesse passed the file over and then went back to sorting. "There's something else I've been thinking about." He stated, pausing from his task as the thought invaded his consciousness. "Yesterday before Steve left, I'm fairly sure he was onto something. He said he was going to go back to the station to check something out."  
  
"Any idea what it was?" Nathan asked.  
  
Jesse shook his head, "No, all I remember is him saying something about it not being a case I helped out on, he refused to say anything else until he checked on something."  
  
At that point the phone on Mark's desk rang. Amanda answered it moving without thinking, trying not to wince as the movement of her shoulder stretched her abused neck muscles. She replied first with her name and then a "Thank you we'll be right down."  
  
She looked at the two men in turn. "Well I guess you can ask him, that was Dr. Taylor, Steve's awake." 


	13. Revelations

Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to Nonny, she'll know why. Hope you are all still enjoying this.  
  
Part 13 Revelations  
  
Steve returned to consciousness with a start, his heart rate spiking as a deep sense of foreboding gripped his awakening system. He opened his eyes and it took a moment for the fuzzy forms to gel into sharp edges. He calmed a little as he recognised the familiar sight of the hospital room. Whatever had happened he appeared to be safe in the hospital, but there was definitely something wrong, something other than the fact that he had obviously been hurt again.  
  
He moved cautiously, trying to assess where the problem was by gently shifting each part of his body. He was unfortunately well practiced at this part and knew from past experience the inadvisability of sharp movements. Even so, the pain that shot out in sharp spikes as he shifted his right shoulder took his breath away. He remained perfectly still as the waves ebbed and settled to a dull throbbing. As his mind cleared, a mixture of memories and conclusions took shape. The thump in the shoulder, the pool of blood, the difficulty in breathing, all pointed to him being stabbed, almost exactly as Jesse had written it. Thankfully the cliffhanger seemed to have had a good outcome at least from his point of view. He had been found in time, had been treated, would recover, so why did he still have a creeping fear inside, unsettling him. What else had happened?  
  
His train of thought was interrupted as first a nurse arrived and then Dr. Taylor.  
  
"Hey Steve, good to see you awake. How are you feeling? How's the pain?" Bill Taylor asked, the concern clearly more than just a professional enquiry about his patient. Bill knew Steve well, he had been a friend of Mark's for a long time, and had a close working relationship with Jesse, so their paths crossed regularly, even without Steve's own frequent acquaintance with the working end of the ER.  
  
"Bad," Steve admitted quietly, his shoulder still throbbing from the recent movement.  
  
"OK, I'll get you something for that," Bill said, turning to the nurse and giving her instructions, he paused to write on Steve's chart, as the nurse prepared and administered the injection into his IV.  
  
"So, do you remember what happened?" He asked, waiting for the pain killer to take effect before continuing his exam.  
  
"I was," Steve hesitated slightly not entirely sure of his ground, he'd been cut with a knife before and it had always hurt instantly, but this had been different, more of a dull thump than a sharp pain, Still, it hurt enough now, it had to have been a knife. ". . .stabbed," he completed, "in the parking lot?"  
  
Bill nodded in response to the slight questioning tone. "You were lucky, the knife only nicked your lung, an inch lower and I doubt we would have found you in time. As it was you lost a lot of blood."  
  
Steve swallowed hearing the mixture of concern and relief in the tone, knowing that he was being told that he was lucky to have survived. It made him contemplate for a moment the fact that he nearly hadn't, a cold trickle running down his spine as his latest brush with death registered in his consciousness, being hurt was one thing, nearly losing his life was quite another. With the acknowledgement the unlabelled fear grew stronger, but he was still not sure what was bothering him.  
  
He concentrated on his memory, remembering how careless he had been before the attack. After all, Jesse had given him every detail of it, and yet, he had walked through the lot oblivious of what was going on around him. That carelessness had almost cost him his life. The sharp memory of lying bleeding, unable to move returned. It took him a moment to realise that Bill had asked another question.  
  
"Do you remember anything after you were hit?"  
  
Steve shook his head. "Not much," there was a slight pause. "Who found me?"  
  
Something unreadable flickered across Bill Taylor's expression. He moved forward. "That painkiller should have taken effect by now, I need to check your wound."  
  
Steve recognised the delaying tactic and tried to fathom the reason for it, but he was hampered by the need to move and the still mind blanking pain that accompanied that action. He endured the necessary checks as patiently as he could, listening to Bill describe his condition and what they had done in more detail as he worked, waiting until he was settled back on the pillows before trying the question again.  
  
"So who found me?" Steve asked again, trying to keep control of his emotions, but now that Bill Taylor had tacitly confirmed by his evasion that there was something else wrong, the nagging fear was still growing.  
  
"Dr. Travis treated you, saved your life," Bill offered, "He should be here in a minute."  
  
Steve cursed himself, damn that was all Jesse had needed, to find him near death, to be forced to save his life whilst no doubt holding himself responsible for what had happened. He looked back up at Bill who was avoiding eye contact, and remembered the evasion. "So what is it that you don't want to tell me?"  
  
"Steve?"  
  
Jesse's voice from the doorway distracted Steve and he did his best to turn to look at his friend without lifting his head from the raised pillows, he didn't quite make it until Jesse made it a little further into the room, accompanied by Nathan and Amanda.  
  
"Hey Steve how're you feeling?" Jesse asked, a genuine smile touching his concerned features, relieved to see Steve conscious and alert.  
  
"OK as long as I don't move," Steve replied, giving a slight nod of greeting to Nathan and Amanda before turning his attention back to Jesse. He tried to assess his friend's condition, noting the lack of animation in his movement and the shadows under his eyes that still spoke of emotional turmoil.  
  
"Bill?" Jesse asked his colleague, needing the reassurance of medical opinion, Steve was known for saying he felt fine whatever his condition, from concussion to gunshot wounds.  
  
"Fine, see for yourself." Bill handed Steve's chart over for Jesse to check.  
  
Steve looked past Jesse expectantly, "My dad not with you?" He asked. He had been mildly surprised not to find his father sitting by his bed waiting for him to come round, but, from what Dr. Taylor had told him, his condition had been stable since the previous evening and given everything else that was going on, coupled with his father's ever present desire to help with investigations even when it didn't involve his own, it had not occurred to him that his absence was anything to worry about, until now.  
  
He noticed the brief eye contact between Bill and Jesse and suddenly his father's absence from the room worried him a great deal, for some reason it connected with the strong fear he already felt and his gut twisted, as a lump rose in his throat.  
  
There was no immediate answer and Steve's eyes flicked around the group, his agitation increasing as he saw uncertainty and concern on the faces of his friends. He fixed his gaze back on Jesse. "Has something happened to him? Is he alright?" His heart was beginning to pound rapidly and he could hear the rush of blood past his ears.  
  
Jesse moved forward and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder, partly to stop him from trying to move and partly to provide reassurance. He knew he had to handle this carefully, but he also knew that they had to tell Steve the truth. There was no reason that they could invent that would explain Mark's absence from his son's bedside that would work for more than a few hours, and, delaying telling him that his father was missing for those few hours, would gain them very little, especially since there was a strong chance that Steve had witnessed his father's abduction and may remember it at any time. So they had agreed in advance that they would have to tell him, and Jesse had insisted that he be the one to do it. Since he held himself responsible for what had happened to both of them he felt that it was the least that he could do.  
  
Bill Taylor had reluctantly agreed and had a sedative standing by although he hoped it would not be necessary, he also couldn't help musing on which of his patients may need it.  
  
"Calm down Steve, we have every reason to believe that he's OK." Jesse said with his most reassuring tone.  
  
Steve looked at him processing the words carefully, trying his best to quell the almost overwhelming emotions, so that he could find out exactly what was wrong. "But you don't know?" He asked. How could they not know?  
  
"The truth is. . ." Jesse said looking down at the blanket, he paused before taking a deep breath and looking Steve in the eye. "The truth is nobody knows, no one has seen him since yesterday when he found you in the parking lot. The police officer who was with him went to get help and left him with you, by the time we got to you, you were alone. He's been missing ever since."  
  
Steve felt like the approaching hurricane that had been building ever since he woke had just hit him. A mind numbing body blow that seemed to momentarily shut down everything, even his ability to breathe. His eyes were no longer focussed on the room, his brain unable to process anything but the single word, 'missing.'  
  
Jesse watched his friend expecting some sort of reaction to the news, instead the complete lack of reaction scared him, he looked up and exchanged worried glances with Amanda and Bill, and then he looked back at Steve, giving him another moment before prompting. "Steve?"  
  
Steve was lost in snatches of returning memory, the warmth of his father's reassuring words, his gentle touch penetrating through the pain, the voices followed by whispered words, he had to leave. Why did he have to leave? Steve didn't want him to go, he needed him, why would he leave?  
  
Steve heard Jesse calling his name as though it was at a distance, his senses suddenly snapping back to the hospital room, cold concrete replaced by soft cotton sheets. He looked up tears of remembered pain filling his eyes. "He left me," he said so softly it was almost whispered.  
  
"Steve, do you remember what happened?" Nathan asked, hopeful for some sort of lead, but for the moment Steve's rational thought processes were stalled by the strength of remembered emotion. Lying near death, that one thought had been his entire world and now it took over again.  
  
He turned to look at Nathan. "He left me," he repeated, somehow unable to process beyond that, and then his rational mind reconnected with the memories, and the maelstrom of thoughts tumbled over each other like white water over rocks. He looked up sharply. "He would never leave me injured, not unless he didn't have a choice, not unless he was forced. Oh God!" the exclamation left his lips as the true horror of the situation hit him. The other voice he had heard had been his attacker, the killer, and he had taken his father, had forced him to leave under who knew what duress. He looked up at each of the other's in turn. "The killer took him," he said almost painfully slowly, hoping against hope that something in the expressions of those around him would refute his conclusion. They didn't, instead they mirrored his own anxiety and fear.  
  
Every instinct Steve had told him that he had to do something. He had to find his father. He began to push himself up off the pillow. Gentle but firm hands moved to either side to hold him back, not that they were really necessary. Steve was shocked at his own weakness as his normally responsive muscles refused to obey, pain once more wiping thought as he gasped and dropped back onto the pillows.  
  
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Amanda asked softly.  
  
"Have. . . to find him," Steve said, wincing as he adjusted his position.  
  
"Steve," Nathan moved forward slightly, "We've got everyone in the department on this, not to mention half the hospital staff," he paused momentarily before adding with conviction. "We will find him."  
  
Steve nodded, he did not doubt his colleagues' determination but it did not diminish his own need to do something other than lie there in bed whilst his father's life was in danger.  
  
He ignored the deeper horror that lay in the uncertainty. The fact that his father may already be dead, was not something that he could contemplate, besides if the killer had wanted to kill him, why not just do it there in the parking lot? Why take him away? He grasped at the straw of comfort that that rationalisation gave him  
  
"But I need. . ." Steve tried hard to articulate what it was that he needed to do that other people could not, but he wasn't sure, he just felt the overwhelming need to do something. He realised, however, that the frailty of his own body would betray him again. He had only felt this impotent once before, forced to lie in a bed whilst his father was accused of, tried for and convicted of murder. Recovering from near life threatening injuries, it had been almost impossibly hard to rest, even though all he would accomplish by trying to move around would be further harm to himself. He had never wanted to feel that helpless again. He lifted his left hand to rub tired eyes. "I can't just lie here," he said, his tone a cross between pleading and defeat.  
  
"No," Nathan said, " not just lie there, you can help us. Yesterday when you were leaving, you were heading to the station to check something out, do you remember what it was?"  
  
Steve turned to look at him, it was a moment before he responded as he focussed his mind on less painful memories.  
  
"You said something about it not being a case I had helped on," Jesse prompted putting the emphasis on the word 'helped' as Steve had done the day before.  
  
Steve turned to look at Jesse before responding. "Yes, it occurred to me that there was at least one person from your past as crazy as this killer. It wasn't a case you helped on, it wouldn't even come up in a search of my cases. It was a case you were," he paused choosing his next word carefully. " 'involved' in." He knew he was about to drag up painful memories for his friend, possibly without reason, but the choice that he'd had the day before had been taken from him. "I was going to check on the whereabouts of Chloe Marsden." He watched Jesse carefully, expecting some sort of reaction to the name but there was none, at least none visible.  
  
If her name had been brought up under other circumstances then Jesse wold almost certainly have reacted. She had been part of one of the worst experiences of his adult life, another man had died by his hand and even though he knew that it was an accident, that he was not responsible for what had happened, he still woke up on occasion in a cold sweat having had a nightmare about it. Still remembered the feel of the sword as it cut into her ex-boyfriend's body, still felt the guilt and pain of taking the life of another when he had sworn to do the opposite, still felt the fear that had accompanied the knowledge that she had first set him up to take the rap for murder, and then had planned his own death, again manipulating another into doing it for her.  
  
Given everything that had happened, however, he just couldn't seem to react. It was as though his emotions had been numbed, they had reached their overload point and there was nothing left. Besides, it seemed to make a perverse kind of sense that she was responsible for this. She had certainly been crazy enough, the case had never made it to trial, instead Chloe Marsden had been sent to a secure institution. If she had somehow got out. . .  
  
"Jess?"  
  
Jesse pulled himself back from his musings and focussed his gaze back on Steve. "She was certainly insane enough."  
  
"I'll get it checked out straight away," Nathan said, pulling out his cell phone.  
  
Despite himself, Steve yawned. The adrenaline spike that had accompanied the revelation of his father's abduction, was dissipating, leaving in it's wake a crushing weariness. He knew that however hard he tried he would not be able to fight it. He almost smiled at the instant reaction of the three doctor's in the room, knowing what was coming next, just wondering which one of them was going to say it.  
  
"You need to try to get some rest." Bill Taylor moved toward the bed. "I'll be back to check on you soon."  
  
"I'll keep you informed and let you know the instant we find anything." Nathan said, moving for the door.  
  
Jesse echoed both sentiments as did Amanda.  
  
"Yes, you get some sleep."  
  
"We'll do everything we can."  
  
"Thanks," Steve managed to mutter, even as the combination of exhaustion and drugs in his system conspired to drag him back under.  
  
--  
  
Jesse and Amanda went back to looking through the files of hospital employees. They were both busy reading in Mark's office when Nathan joined them. He exchanged greetings before sitting down.  
  
"You guys come up with anything?" He asked.  
  
They both shook their heads. "Nothing so far, we've been through them all once, we're just doing a second run through, see if we missed anything." Jesse replied dejectedly. "I've checked all of the photographs, Chloe Marsden is definitely not amongst them, that's a face I'd never forget."  
  
"She wouldn't be," Nathan, shifted in his seat. "That's one of the things that I came to tell you, she died just over six months ago."  
  
"Oh," there was a slight pause before Jesse continued, even after all she had done to him the news of her death was upsetting, when he had first met her he had tried to help her, he hadn't realised at the time that she was beyond his help. A part of him felt sorrow for her loss. "How did it happen?"  
  
"Some sort of overdose," Nathan supplied, "They're faxing through the report now."  
  
"Another dead end then," Amanda stated.  
  
"Not quite, she spent her last days in the Broadbent institute."  
  
Jesse recognised the name instantly. "The same institute that Paul Bilson, the porter, worked in before he came to work here. . ."  
  
"About six months ago," Nathan completed for him, "and Paul Bilson was in the army for a while. He specialised in ordnance and demolitions."  
  
"So he could easily have made and set the bombs." Jesse said becoming more animated, at last they had a genuine lead.  
  
"Yes," Nathan nodded. "I spoke to his commanding officer, he said he worked on remote detonations, using whatever was available in the field, such as gas pipes."  
  
"Like at the Diner," Jesse said.  
  
"Exactly, and the anaesthetic cylinder in the OR." Nathan replied. "It took me a while but his CO admitted that it was exactly what he had been trained for."  
  
"But that doesn't help with who attacked me," Amanda said. "It was definitely a woman, whoever it was was around my height and build, that definitely does not fit Bilson."  
  
"Maybe so, but it does look like he's in this up to his neck, at the very least as an accomplice." Nathan looked at Jesse.  
  
"But what would be his motive?" Jesse asked, not questioning his involvement, there were too many coincidences for him not to be involved, but trying to fathom the reason. "Something to do with Chloe's death?"  
  
"I don't know but I intend to ask him." Nathan replied, his tone taking a hard edge. "I'm also hoping he'll be able to give us some information as to Mark's whereabouts. I'm heading out to his place now to pick him up. I just wanted to fill you in before I left."  
  
"I'd like to go with you." Jesse said.  
  
Nathan stared at him for a moment, not surprised by the request and recognising the young doctor's need to be involved in stopping what was happening to him. It was against procedure to take civilians with him, on the other hand, Jesse was no stranger to helping out with investigations. He nodded. "You can come but you have to promise to stay in the car until after we have made the arrest." It was a compromise and the best he could offer.  
  
Jesse nodded, grateful for the chance to do something.  
  
--  
  
Amanda sat at Steve's bedside. She had come down to sit with him after Jesse had left with Nathan. After last night's attack she did not want to be on her own, particularly not in Mark's office, and even in his injured state, Steve's presence offered a strength and a comfort to her that she could not explain. It was as though his strength of spirit alone could protect her.  
  
She sat and absently adjusted the scarf about her neck, not realising that Steve was awake until he spoke softly.  
  
"What happened to your neck?" He asked.  
  
She looked up and met his crystal blue eyes, which were thankfully clearer and less pained than they had been earlier. She quickly replaced the scarf over the bruising. "It's nothing," she began, but realised that Steve would not accept that. "I was attacked in your dad's office when I went to get some files," she admitted.  
  
Steve cursed softly.  
  
"Fortunately, the killer posted the next chapter, alerting Nathan to the fact that one of the female doctors would be attacked. He came looking for me and interrupted the killer before she could finish what she started, but she got away."  
  
"She?" Steve questioned, "So my theory about Chloe Marsden. . ."  
  
"No, I'm afraid it's not her," Amanda interrupted and filled him in on Nathan's findings.  
  
Steve listened quietly until she had finished before asking the question that he needed to ask but already knew the answer to. If Amanda had any news about his father it would have been the first thing she would have told him. "My dad is there. . ? Are there any clues as to where he may be?"  
  
Amanda shook her head, "No, I'm sorry Steve nothing yet."  
  
Steve sighed and lay back on the pillow, trying to keep the wash of negative emotions at bay. The only useful thing he could do at the moment was think, and for that he needed a clear head. Still, the near despondency and despair shrouded him like an extra blanket.  
  
He considered carefully the new information, suddenly drawing in extra air as an idea connected. Amanda heard the sharp intake of breath and looked across concerned. He was once again staring back at her. "You say the latest chapter detailed the attack on you."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Is there anything in there about a doctor being kidnapped?" Steve's animation was growing.  
  
"No."  
  
"I need to see the last couple of chapters," he said  
  
Amanda started looking through the pile of papers next to her, pulling out the appropriate printouts. "Have you got something?"  
  
"I think so," Steve said, fired with a new energy and determination. "I think I've got an idea where my dad is."  
  
--  
  
Nathan's car pulled up behind the black and whites, the uniformed officers were already exiting their vehicles ready to take up positions. They had parked down the block from the building in the hope of taking their quarry by surprise.  
  
Nathan turned to Jesse. "You stay in the car, I'll come and get you once we've made the arrest."  
  
Jesse nodded and shifted to a more comfortable position where he could keep an eye on what was happening. He watched as Nathan got out and approached the uniformed officers giving them instructions. His mind absently drifting back through everything that had happened in the last couple of days. He was grateful that they finally had a break, the killer had been one step ahead of them at every stage, even down to the staged attack on him the previous day.  
  
A mixture of intuition and logic began to guide his thoughts. The attack on him had been a stupid risk, as was Bilson's lie, it only drew attention to him and made it more likely that they would check his background. Everything else about this had been carefully planned. Why make such a stupid blunder unless you wanted the police to know who you were, wanted them to. . .  
  
Before the final though had connected, Jesse had undone his seatbelt and was out of the car running towards the house and calling out to Nathan, every instinct in him screaming that he had to stop them.  
  
Nathan and the two uniformed officers were almost at the door of the apartments when he heard Jesse's shout, he had sent the other officers to cover the back. Nathan cursed, he turned to the officers. "Go in without me," he said, knowing that Jesse's shouts had probably lost them the element of surprise. He would have to get the young doctor back to the safety of the car before he could return and that would involve too long a delay if the others were to wait for him. The officers nodded and continued forward, as Nathan turned to walk back towards the young doctor who was running towards him.  
  
"Nathan, no it's a trap," Jesse shouted, as the bottom floor of the apartment block mushroomed out in a cacophony of noise and bright orange flame. 


	14. Finding Them

Part 14 Finding them.  
  
The small part of Jesse's mind that registered the orange flash for what it was, was forever lost in the sea of connections that were made when the shock wave of heat and debris hit him, picking him up and flinging him backwards across the street. He landed hard on his back and the world phased out.  
  
--  
  
Nathan wasn't sure how long it was between Jesse's shouted warning and the point at which he shook his head and pushed himself, somewhat awkwardly, to a sitting position. It couldn't have been long because their was still a rolling coil of fine dust that seemed to curl endlessly in the air before settling in waves across the tarmac. He blinked the dust from his eyes, taking in first the sight of the flames that licked up the wall from one of the windows of the apartment block, then he focussed on the patches of burning debris on the sidewalk. along with lumps of stone. He pushed himself to his knees and then to a shaking standing position as he caught sight of the dark uniformed body lying sprawled across the steps that led up into the building. Coughing he started to move forward, his attention on the still figure. He turned and tried not to wretch when he got close enough to see that the young officer was beyond help. Damn, he had only spoken to him moments earlier.  
  
He looked up into the doorway, black smoke still billowed out. To enter the building would be foolhardy, even if he were at his best, he looked down at his grimy and bloodied clothing, he definitely wasn't at his best.  
  
He turned his attention to his immediate surroundings. He looked up and down the street and realised that there was an almost eerie lack of movement, not that there had been much happening before. At this time of the day most people would be at work or school, and it wasn't the sort of neighbourhood where you ventured outside without a goal in mind. It seemed strange though that there wasn't more reaction to the blast.  
  
He looked for his car, if the radio was still working he needed to call this in, he took a stumbling step forward, belatedly beginning to take stock of how he was feeling, a thundering roar in his ears powered a growing headache His clothes were torn and his arm was bleeding from a large gash. There were dull aches from every part of his body, coughing again, he made it as far as the curb before sinking down.  
  
--  
  
Steve took the printed out sheets from Amanda and dropped them onto the bed in front of him, picking up the first one with his good hand, so that he could read it more easily. He spoke without looking at her. "I need you to get a list of all hospital admissions in the last 24 hours, including the private patients."  
  
Amanda's mind worked rapidly, connecting Steve's requests, she picked up the phone, calling for the information, before asking him about them. "Surely you don't think they're keeping Mark here in the hospital? He'd have been recognised, everyone knows him."  
  
Steve looked up from the sheets he was speed reading through. "Everything else that has happened so far has been written into the story, right?"  
  
Amanda nodded at the question.  
  
"Even when she had to repost parts of a chapter to get the order of events to match what was happening here?"  
  
Amanda nodded again.  
  
"Then why not put something in about kidnapping a doctor if you were going to, or already had done it? I mean she posted a chapter about your attack. Why not change the existing chapter or put something in the new chapter?"  
  
Amanda couldn't come up with an answer.  
  
Steve waited only a moment before dropping his attention back to the sheets in front of him, discarding one to pick up the next.  
  
"Here it is," he stated, about half way down the third page. "After the explosion, Dr. Romano is admitted through the ER to the burns unit." Steve swallowed before continuing, "Suffering from first and second degree burns to his arms chest and face." Suddenly a part of him wanted to be wrong about the whereabouts of his father. If the killer was sticking rigidly to what was written then they would have had to. . . He didn't even want to think about the pain that may have been inflicted, instead he focussed on the fact that they would find his father, that he was alive and somewhere in the hospital.  
  
Amanda saw the muscle twitch in Steve's jaw as he fought for and regained his control, not sure that there was anything that she could say that would comfort him. If Steve was wrong then that meant that Mark would still be missing, but she too understood the possible implications if he was right.  
  
There was a knock at the door and a nurse entered. "The admission lists that you wanted." She said handing a file over.  
  
--  
  
Nathan sat on the tailgate of the ambulance, he had been vaguely aware of the EMT's arrival and of still being seated on the curb when they had, for a while things phased in and out of his consciousness.  
  
The fire crews and police back up had arrived at almost exactly the same time and the quiet street had descended into a chaos of activity. There was a fire to put out, buildings to be evacuated, the apartment block to check and the injured to deal with. Along with the growing army of rescue workers, and the displaced residents, curiosity finally overpowered the wariness of those who lived nearby and they were drawn out onto the sidewalks to watch the action. A trickle of news crews arrived to add to the mix as the street and sidewalks filled with vehicles and people.  
  
Nathan was only peripherally aware of this and of his injuries being assessed and treated. It was like watching the world through a cotton wool haze. Nothing made sense until he heard the familiar tones of his Captain. Suddenly the world snapped back into focus and he pushed himself to standing.  
  
"Captain," he shouted, ignoring the protests of the young paramedic who had been trying to complete treatment of a cut above his eye, as he moved over to join his superior.  
  
"Detective Turner," Captain Newman turned from his briefing with the fire chief to greet his detective, studying him critically and noticing the many bandages and abrasions.  
  
"Do we know what happened?" Nathan asked, his own memories still a little hazy.  
  
"I was hoping that you could tell me detective," Newman supplied.  
  
Nathan filled in the details that he could remember, Captain Newman listening quietly until he got to the part about Jesse's shouted warning.  
  
"Dr. Travis was with you?" Newman asked, a note of tension in his voice.  
  
Nathan looked at him slightly confused. "Yes, if it hadn't been for him I would have been inside," he swallowed, at the thought, "with the others when the explosion hit."  
  
Newman looked around. "So he was where when the blast hit?"  
  
Nathan's confusion was growing, he looked round and pointed to the place he had last seen the young doctor. "He was about there," He looked back to Newman, "but I don't understand, didn't the EMTs. . ."  
  
Newman was busy summoning over some of the uniformed officers with hand gestures. "I'll get some people to check," he said, turning his attention back to Nathan briefly "but I've spoken to the people who were first on the scene, they found you and." he paused momentarily before pointing to the now covered body of the fallen officer, " and officer Brown there," he continued, " but there was no one else." He paused again before adding. "There was no sign of Dr. Travis."  
  
--  
  
Steve put his hand out for the file at the same time as Amanda, and the nurse looked hesitantly between them before Amanda, seeing her confusion, indicated that she should give the file to Steve.  
  
Steve took it gratefully, wincing from the movement, but ignoring the pain in his eagerness to test his theory. He put the file into the hand of his injured arm, resting it across his chest and flicked through the pages. It was only a few moments before he grabbed one of the sheets and pulled it from the file letting the rest fall away. "Here it is," he said, triumphantly. "A patient called Romano was admitted to a private room, attended by his own nurse and doctor, late yesterday evening." He looked up from the sheet into Amanda's eyes, "He supposedly has burns to his arms, face, neck and upper chest. That would mean those areas were covered by dressings, yes?" he questioned.  
  
Amanda nodded. "And if he was admitted as a private patient, none of the staff would have cause to check them or question his identity."  
  
Steve pushed himself to a sitting position, clenching his jaw against the pain, and started to swing his legs round.  
  
"Whoa," Amanda said, moving to block him. "Just where do you think you're going?"  
  
Steve held up the piece of paper that was still tightly gripped in the hand of his good arm. "There's every possibility that this tells us where my father is, I need to find out." The determination in his tone was clear.  
  
"Steve you're in no shape to go anywhere, not even in the hospital. You still have a chest drain in and excessive movement could dislodge that or tear the stitches in your shoulder." She fixed her gaze with his. "Let me go I'll call straight down as soon as I know anything, you won't have to wait."  
  
Steve did not move as he considered her statement, the compulsion to go to find his father, to confirm it was him, to find out if he had been hurt, was so strong that for a moment he wasn't sure that he had conscious control over it, however bad his own injuries were.  
  
Amanda saw that his resolve was not weakening, she tried again. "Please Steve, if it is Mark you don't want him to be greeted by the news that we've had to take you back into surgery."  
  
Steve looked away for a moment, it was a low blow but it had the desired effect, Amanda was right, he did not need to be there, if it was his father he could need medical attention, but there would be nothing that he could do. In this instance he would be risking further injury for nothing, there was no immediate threat to Mark.  
  
He closed his eyes, letting the inner war rage a little longer as he accepted the wisdom of his friend's advice. He just wanted to be there, to see him, to touch him, to know irrefutably that he was alive. His fists clenched screwing up the paper in his hand a little more, and causing another spasm in his shoulder which he ignored. He nodded slightly as he reopened his eyes, handing the sheet over to her as he spoke. "OK, but I need to know as soon as you do."  
  
Amanda let out the breath that she had been holding and gratefully took the sheet. She turned and unhooked the phone from the wall placing it on Steve's lap. "I'll be as quick as I can," she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before she turned and ran from the room.  
  
--  
  
Nathan stared at Captain Newman for a moment as the EMT came up on his shoulder "Please," the young paramedic said, "I need to take you to the hospital, get you checked for a possible concussion, and your arm needs checking to make sure there's no glass left in the wound."  
  
Nathan continued to stare at his superior for a moment before the use of his name caused him to turn and look blankly at the paramedic. "I'm sorry?" he questioned forcing the young man to repeat his request.  
  
"No," Nathan shook his head, "I'm sorry, I can't, there's something I need to do."  
  
"But. . ." the young man began to protest.  
  
"No! Thanks for all you've done, but I'm not going to the hospital."  
  
"Fine, I'll just get the paperwork for you to sign to say you refused transport."  
  
"OK," Nathan nodded, doing his best to look apologetic as the paramedic turned, making no attempt to hide his frustration as he headed back to the ambulance.  
  
Newman waited until Nathan made eye contact again. "Detective, you need to go with them to the hospital, department procedure states. . ."  
  
"I know what procedure says sir, but I can't leave until I've found Dr. Travis. It was my call to bring him here, I was supposed to be protecting him, instead he saves my life and now he's missing." He paused, drawing in a deep breath. "I have to help find him."  
  
Newman knew that he could order the detective to go to the hospital, but looking at the determined set of the young man's face, he knew that the order was unlikely to be obeyed, he sighed, "Alright, you can stay and help with the search but at the first sign of any problems I'll have you taken to the hospital, no arguments."  
  
"Yes sir," Nathan replied, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. He took the proffered clipboard and pen from the returning paramedic and began to sign his name.  
  
"I've been letting you spend far too much time with Sloan," Newman muttered under his breath as he turned to organise a search for the young doctor.  
  
--  
  
Jesse stared at the fruit in boxes, just inside the door of the store, and tried to make sense of his thoughts. Fruit. . . apples. . . oranges . . . lots of it, sitting there. He looked up and around, his eyes flitting on to other things. Shelves. . . packets. . . boxes. . . store, it was a store, a place where they sold things. He had a tiny recollection that that was what he had been looking for, if only he could remember why.  
  
He stepped forward, not really aware of how awkward his gait was, one foot dragging behind the other as instinct made him favour his injured leg, but he was beyond noticing any pain.  
  
A small child came out through the doorway and stared at him, his expression first curious and then concerned. "Hey mister are you all right?" The boy asked, moving forward.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine," Jesse stated, almost automatically, "I'm fine," he repeated, confused by the way the sound of his own voice seemed to reverberate in his head.  
  
The boy took another step forward. "But you look like you've been hurt, there's blood." He pointed at Jesse's leg. "There was blood when I fell off my bike, I cut my arm." He looked up at Jesse innocently. "Did you fall off your bike?"  
  
Jesse considered the question, he didn't think he had a bike, hadn't for a long time. He looked down at his clothes, they were very dirty, he wiped ineffectually at his shirt a couple of times to try to remove some of the dust, not noticing how jerky and uncoordinated his actions were. At that point a woman walked out of the store and called to her son.  
  
"Steve," she shouted, the boy turned to look at her. "Come on we need to get home." She barely noticed the figure standing a few feet from her son as she tried to rearrange the grocery bags in her arms so that she did not drop them.  
  
The name had an instant effect on Jesse, he took a step back as images flooded his senses, instinctively trying to move away from the onslaught of light and colour, the bright flash of an explosion, Steve falling, Steve lying covered in blood, blood on his hands, another explosion, he backed away further, shaking his head as his heart began to pound rapidly, his eyes widening at the horror of it all.  
  
"Steve," the voice penetrated his consciousness and the images faded, his vision clearing.  
  
"Steve, come on," the woman shouted again, the growing irritation showing in her voice.  
  
Jesse's watched as the small boy reluctantly dragged his gaze away, turning to run back to his mother. the boy must be called Steve, somehow the name seemed familiar but he couldn't quite connect it. His heart was pounding and he was sweating, he looked around for the danger, but there was none, the street was quiet. Had he been running? If only he could remember.  
  
He stared straight ahead. Fruit. . . apples. . . oranges . . . lots of it, sitting there. He looked up and around, his eyes flitting on to other things. Shelves. . . packets. . . boxes. . . store, it was a store, a place where they sold things. He had a tiny recollection that that was what he had been looking for, if only he could remember why.  
  
--  
  
Steve fought to keep himself calm, if he could have got up and started pacing the room, he would have done, but it was not an option, so he tried hard to think of a mental equivalent. The only thing that presented itself was the clock on the wall opposite. He focussed on the second hand and watched it make it's perpetual journey round. The harder he stared at it, the slower the hand seemed to move. It was as though his concentration slowed time itself. There were occasions in his life when that would have been an advantage, this was not one of them. He watched the second hand hang on the brink of it's jerky path forwards, willing it to click on, the tension in his muscles growing, the pause a gap in time itself, and then it clicked forward, only to hang again, in a capsule of ever increasing length that should still only be a second. The pattern repeated until he could take it no longer. He dragged his gaze away before time stopped altogether, and drew in a deep breath, redirecting his attention to the phone in front of him as he said a silent prayer for it to ring. His fingers began a subconscious rhythmic tapping on the cover next to it as he waited.  
  
--  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
The gruff voice startled Jesse and he turned to look at the speaker. The man had gray hair and a moustache and for a moment the face morphed in Jesse's vision to that of his friend. "Mark?" he asked tentatively.  
  
"Hey, I don't know no one called Mark," The store owner stared at the disheveled young man more intently, not quite sure what to make of his appearance, nor the way that he had stumbled into the store. He was disconcerted by the blank look that Jesse now gave him, the dirt and blood spoke of violence. "Now I don't want no trouble bringing in here, so you get what you need and be on your way." It wasn't that he was by nature unkind or unhelpful, but years of experience had taught him not to get involved. 'No good deed goes unpunished,' he reminded himself, and in this neighbourhood that was certainly true. In his younger days he might have tried to help the young man in front of him who was clearly in some kind of distress, now he just wanted a peaceful existence.  
  
Jesse's expression turned to one of confusion, as the friendly face he knew so well melted away to be replaced by the unfamiliar features of the owner of the store. "I'm sorry I. . ."  
  
"Look you wanna buy something?" The man asked gruffly.  
  
"No, I. . ." Jesse was confused, he still couldn't remember why he had come in here.  
  
"Then I'm sorry but there's the door, be on your way," The owner gestured towards the open door.  
  
Jesse looked at the doorway then back to the store owner, then to the door again. He couldn't remember what he was doing there and the man who was glaring at him wanted him to leave. He nodded reluctantly and turned and shuffled back on to the sidewalk.  
  
The store owner looked down and saw the drops of blood on his floor and went to get his mop, shaking his head, there was too much violence these days, he just wished they'd keep it away from his store.  
  
--  
  
Amanda walked tentatively into the room and stared at the heavily bandaged figure lying on the bed. She gasped as she realised that she had no need to wait for the bandages to be removed, it was Mark. She wasn't sure how she knew, she just knew that it was him.  
  
She moved forward and picked up the chart, reading quickly through the cocktail of drugs that he was on. She gasped again at the heavy doses of narcotics that would keep a man twice Mark's size, immobile and unconscious. She moved quickly to remove the IV that was delivering them to his system, but then she had to wait. If there was even the remote chance that the burns detailed on his chart were real then she was not going to remove the bandages without a burns specialist there. She had paged Dr. Roberts to meet her, now all she had to do was wait for him.  
  
She debated ringing Steve but knew that he would demand more information than she had. Instead, she contented herself with placing her palm under Mark's. "It's Okay," she said softly, more for her own benefit than for his, she doubted he could hear her. "We'll look after you now."  
  
Dr. Roberts entered the room with a nurse in tow and Amanda filled him in on her suspicions about the patient in front of them. As quickly as they dared they began to remove the dressings, both uttering sighs of relief as the bandages and gauze pulled away to reveal healthy skin beneath. They had started on his face and neck and Amanda felt herself relaxing more and more as Mark's familiar features were revealed. He was in a heavily drugged sleep but otherwise he seemed unharmed. She left Dr. Roberts and the nurse to work and picked up the phone. It didn't even have time to ring once before Steve's terse voice greeted her "Amanda?"  
  
"It's him Steve," she said without preamble, "He's been heavily sedated but otherwise he's fine."  
  
--  
  
The killer watched silently as Jesse stumbled from the store, this really was an unexpected bonus. Dr. Travis wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the explosion, it wasn't in the plan, but watching him suffer like this, she almost wished it had been. It would be so easy to finish things here, now. He was alone and so, so vulnerable  
  
--  
  
Newman lowered his radio and looked round, eventually locating Nathan a few yards behind him. "Detective Turner," he shouted, waiting for the young man to come across. "We have a sighting of Dr. Travis, in a store about four blocks from here."  
  
Nathan had already organised for a uniformed officer to drive him, he had been about to start his own search pattern, so it didn't take long before he was headed for the store.  
  
He climbed out of the cruiser and moved to speak to the officer who was standing on the sidewalk waiting for him. His face broke into a smile of recognition as he greeted the older man, a sergeant in the division he had done his probation in. "Nick, good to see you what have you got?"  
  
Sergeant Nick Thompson looked him up and down. "Thought you were working homicide now, not undercover as an extra on the Mummy 3." The comment covered a genuine concern, there wasn't a single officer on the street unaware of what had happened, nor the fact that they had lost four of their own to some maniac bomber. His smile dropped slightly, "You OK?"  
  
Nathan smiled, looking down at the bandages. "It's not as bad as it looks."  
  
Thompson nodded, flipping his notebook open. "According to the store owner, a man fitting Dr. Travis's description was in there," he checked his watch, "around ten minutes ago now. He said he was covered in dirt and appeared to be bleeding."  
  
"And he didn't try to help him," Nathan said, feeling his anger build.  
  
Thompson shrugged. "You've worked this neighbourhood, people are afraid to get involved. He said he figured the guy had been in a fight."  
  
"Didn't he hear the explosion?"  
  
"Said he had his TV on turned up loud. He was watching the game in between serving customers. He figures the less he sees and hears, the less trouble he can get into."  
  
"I'm surprised he even answered your questions." Nathan tried to get a view of the store owner past the signs plastered on the window.  
  
"I'm not sure that he would have, except we caught him mopping blood off the floor."  
  
That comment reinforced the urgent need to find the young doctor. "So what else?" Nathan asked.  
  
Thompson shut his notebook. "Owner said the doctor seemed confused, out of it," he pointed down the sidewalk. "He headed East."  
  
"OK," Nathan said, "He's not that far ahead of us, let's take it on foot from here. I'll take this side of the street you take the other."  
  
Thompson nodded calling to his partner and they swiftly crossed to the opposite side. Nathan was joined by the officer who had driven him there and they moved as quickly as they could, whilst scanning the streets and alleys for any signs of the young doctor.  
  
--  
  
Steve looked over to where his father lay sleeping in the bed next to him and finally allowed the last vestiges of tension, to drain away. "How long will he sleep for?" he asked. He had only awoken himself a few minutes earlier to find both Amanda and his father in the room, Mark in the second bed and Amanda on the chair between them.  
  
She smiled at him. "Well I was debating which one of you would wake first. You were pretty out for the count yourself you know."  
  
Steve nodded, smiling back, "I still can't believe I fell asleep." Steve had tried his best to remain awake after Amanda's phonecall, confirming that Mark was safe, but as the relief washed over him, so did a blanket of exhaustion, as his stressed system protested the amount he was pushing it. Without the adrenaline that came from fear for his father's safety, he had no means to fight it and he had drifted into a deep sleep.  
  
"Imagine," Amanda said, unable to resist a gentle gibe, "a whole day after a near fatal knife wound and you can't stay awake. What kind of wimp are you?"  
  
Steve laughed, recognising the sentiment, from many a conversation with his father and Jesse. "OK, so maybe I needed the rest," he admitted. His tone became a little more serious as he looked across at his father again. "So you think he could wake up at any time then."  
  
Amanda followed his gaze before turning back to him and giving a slight shrug. "It's hard to tell, the sedation was pretty heavy, it could take a while to work it's way out of his system."  
  
"But there will be no lasting effects?" Steve asked anxiously.  
  
"No, the dose was high, but not enough to cause any permanent damage, he'll just feel groggy for a while."  
  
For the next couple of minutes neither of them spoke, each lost in their own thoughts, comfortable with the lack of conversation as only old friends could be. It was Steve who finally broke the silence "He's going to find it hard," he said softly.  
  
Amanda's gaze had drifted back to Mark's bed but she turned at the softly spoken comment. "Hard?"  
  
Steve's gaze similarly moved from his father up to meet hers. "The killer forced him to leave me there, bleeding to death." His voice was still quiet, but cracked with emotion. "He probably doesn't even know that I'm still alive."  
  
--  
  
Nathan was becoming more disillusioned with each step, he looked across the street to see Sergeant Thompson and his partner roughly keeping pace with him on the opposite side of the street. They had covered about four blocks, stopping at each intersection to check for signs of the doctor down the various alleys and backstreets that lead off the main route they were on, but there was nothing. Nathan had called for reinforcements and they were checking further down the side streets, spreading the search, but he knew that he couldn't rely on this kind of manpower for long. If they didn't find Dr. Travis soon then they may not find him at all.  
  
"Over here," Sergeant Thompson yelled, before moving to investigate the figure he had seen halfway down the alley, hoping that he hadn't just called for help with some vagrant..  
  
Nathan ran across the street barely stopping to check for traffic, as he reached the mouth of the alley he swallowed hard. Nick Thompson was about thirty yards down kneeling next to the unmistakable prone form of Dr. Jesse Travis.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED... 


	15. Helping Them Back

Author's note:- OK no RL excuses for taking a long time on this chapter, it just took a long time to write, really sweated blood getting this one right so I hope you like it. J  
  
Part 15: Helping them back.  
  
Sergeant Thompson knelt by Jesse's head and did a rapid sweep, trying to assess the extent of the doctor's injuries. Now that he was close there was no doubt in his mind that the figure in front of him fitted the description of Dr. Jesse Travis. Slight movement removed the necessity of feeling for a pulse point, at least they had found him alive. He pulled his radio across so that he could call for an ambulance, speaking quickly as he also called off the search. His eyes had reached the wound on Jesse's thigh which was still oozing blood, there was little he could do to stem the flow since he could see the edge of a jagged piece of metal that still sat embedded in the muscle, not knowing how deep the wound was, he knew that the safest course of action was to leave it in situ.  
  
He looked up and was surprised to see the young Doctor's eyes open and staring at him, he was even more startled by the reaction that followed.  
  
Jesse's world consisted of fear and pain, his head was pounding, his leg throbbing in syncopated rhythm, adrenaline coursed through his system heightening his anxiety. Memories of death and danger sparked in flashes of bright colour at the edge of his consciousness, forcing the emotions higher, blocking all rational thought. He opened eyes that refused to focus, and took in the vague form that moved closer to him. Instinct took over as he perceived the unknown form as a danger and he pushed himself up onto shaky arms, scrambling backwards in an effort to escape the stranger, who for the moment, was the sole focus for his fear.  
  
"Hey there, take it easy, it's ok," Nick tried to be reassuring, as he watched the play of emotions cross Jesse's expressive face, but Jesse did not seem to hear him, shifting violently backwards until his back was against the wall, before looking frantically from side to side for some means of escape.  
  
Nathan had been watching and quickened his pace the last few feet to Nick Thompson's side. He touched Nick on the shoulder. "Here let me try, he knows me."  
  
Nick nodded and backed off. "Dr. Travis," Nathan said softly, "Jesse, it's detective Turner."  
  
Jesse turned his attention from the retreating dark form to the person who was saying his name, and tried to process the other words as Nathan's face gradually drifted into focus. With the sharp image came even sharper memories. "No," he said, panic entering his voice. "you're dead," he said, shakily, "I saw. . ." he shook his head as he remembered his last sight of Nathan as the explosion hit. The image triggered more memories. "They. . . they're all dead." His voice faltered as he pulled his legs up, trying to retreat further he scooted a little along the wall, finding a shallow corner as the brickwork jutted out a couple of feet into the alley.  
  
"No," Nathan said, moving forward slowly, taking care to remain unthreatening. "It's going to be all right, I'm not dead, you saved me."  
  
Jesse shook his head, the memories were too powerful. "No.. you . . they. . . they're all dead I saw them." He drew his legs up further wincing as it increased the throbbing pain but still only able to focus on the half remembered images and snatches of emotion.  
  
The remembered responsibility for the deaths of the porter and the nurse mingled with his memories of the explosions, of seeing Mark and Steve fall, seeing Steve in a pool of blood, seeing Amanda gasping for breath, a scarf still tightened around her neck, seeing Nathan fall, and now he knew he had killed them all.  
  
The tears fell as fear was replaced by sorrow and despair. He looked up as Nathan reached his side. "All dead," he said quietly, hugging himself closely. "All dead," he repeated as his mind retreated to somewhere safer.  
  
Nathan looked back to where Nick Thompson stood quietly watching and shared a look of mutual concern, relieved to hear the sirens of the approaching ambulance.  
  
--  
  
Steve looked up at a slight sound and realised that it was just the rattle of a trolley in the hallway, he looked at the clock, Amanda had been gone for around twenty minutes now, he turned to check on his father's increasingly restless form and wished idly that she would come back, his father would need somebody there when he finally surfaced fully to consciousness. He debated pressing the call button to get one of the nurses, but Mark had been drifting in and out for some time now, never fully regaining consciousness, if he called a nurse every time his father stirred then they wouldn't get anything done, to say nothing of him getting his own 'boy who cried wolf' tag which may mean they would not be so quick to respond if he really needed them. He relaxed his thumb from where it hovered as his father settled again. Where was Amanda?  
  
He thought back to her departure from the room, he had been so preoccupied with his own thoughts, that he had barely noticed her get up to answer the page on the room phone at the far side of his bed. When he had finally acknowledged that she was talking into it he had only caught her saying that she would be right down.  
  
"I need to go and check on something," was all she had given him by way of explanation before she had taken her leave, promising to be back as soon as she could, and he hadn't really thought to question her on what that 'something' might be , so he had merely nodded and turned his attention back to his father's sleeping form. Now he wished he had found out more. Considering the situation, he couldn't see that she would have left unless something else had happened and, since only bad things seemed to be happening at the moment, that didn't bode well. He tried to remember her expression as she had talked on the phone, but realised that he hadn't been paying her enough attention to take that detail in.  
  
The cry from the bed next to him startled him back from his musings and, before he even realised what he was doing, he was out of the bed and moving to his father's side.  
  
"No, please. . . don't, I need to help." The cry was full of pleading, full of anguish, "I can't leave. . .please . . . Steve." In the half state between sleeping and wakefulness, the traumatic memories of the day before had returned to haunt Mark. The images so real, he was back in the parking lot of the hospital being dragged away from his dying son. Every detail was accurate, the remembered emotion as strong as the first time he had felt it. This time he tried to plead with the now shapeless form of his captor who was dragging him away, relentlessly pulling him as he watched his son's life ebb away, and there was nothing he could do, no way he could stop it.  
  
Steve gripped his father's hand and swallowed back the pain of seeing him in such distress. "Dad," he said but the word came out slightly choked, no use for breaking into his father's nightmare, he licked dry lips and tried again. "Dad," he repeated, putting all of the strength that he could into the word, "Dad, it's me Steve I'm here, you're all right." He kept his tone even, strong, looking down at his father's hand, encouraged, as he felt the strong grip he had on it returned. Looking back up, that brief sense of relief was shattered. "Dad?" his voice faltered again, his tone questioning, as his father's eyes finally opened and he saw the depth of anguish and guilt written there, saw the half formed tears that still threatened to fall, "Dad," he said again trying to maintain his own calm.  
  
Mark's disorientation was complete as he opened his eyes on a world that bore no resemblance to the powerful images of his dreams. His confused mind tried to process the sudden contrast between the sensory input and what he perceived to be happening, for a moment the incongruity was too great, there was no way to reconcile the two, and fear took hold once more. Then a single word got through, "Dad," the unmistakable tones of his son's voice began to break down the barriers, and Mark finally blinked his eyes into focus, not quite able to believe the concerned face that was staring down at him.  
  
"Steve?" The name was half statement, half question, he looked down at the hand that gripped his and flexed his fingers against the warm skin that he felt there. His gaze moved up again until crystal blue eyes met and held his own. "Steve," he said again as a powerful sense of relief flooded his system. Steve was alive.  
  
The locked gaze lasted only a few seconds but seemed to stretch for hours as each man studied the other, each needing to have fears allayed, wanting, needing reassurance.  
  
Steve, sought the keen intelligence behind his father's eyes, and, although it was still masked by fear, he found it there. Relieved, he knew that whatever else happened, whatever else they had to deal with, he had his father back.  
  
Mark, simply needed the reassurance that Steve was not dead. For the briefest of moments he doubted his own eyes again. It was possible that this was an illusion, that he was seeing what he most desired, still in the grip of his dreams, but the truth was held in the shared gaze, was spreading from the warm grip on his hands. Slowly he shook off the lingering doubt. Steve was standing beside him and that was all that was important. He drank in the welcome sight for a moment more, but as the relief registered so did a turmoil of questions. His difficulty in reconciling his memories of being dragged away from Steve with seeing him here now, fuelled an urgent curiosity. He tried to form some of the questions into words but they tumbled into each other. "How. . . where. ..?" He took a deep breath and tried to settle his thoughts.  
  
Steve recognised the change, uncomfortably familiar with the sensation of waking up in a hospital room with a mind full of questions. "It's OK," he stated, repeating his earlier reassurance, "you. . ." he hesitated, "we're in the hospital."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
'What happened?' an innocent enough question, but where did you start with something like that, and how much of what they had figured had happened should he pass on if Mark didn't remember himself? Steve drew in a deep breath. "We think the killer drugged you, then had you admitted to the hospital as a burns victim." He did his best to keep his tone even, but the breath had been a mistake, igniting a fire in his back, he did his best to cover the grimace. "Bandaged to hide your identity," he continued, "and sedated so that you couldn't alert anyone." He felt distinctly lightheaded, but forced himself to remain standing, his father needed him.  
  
Steve watched as his father considered this information, grateful that it distracted him from noticing his own somewhat shaky predicament. It was rare that Mark was open with his darker emotions. He would readily share warmth, joy, happiness and wonderment with everyone, carrying those who met him along, as a radiant cloud seemed to fill the air around him, and yet, this openness was reserved only for the positive emotions. If Mark felt guilt or pain, sorrow grief, those emotions were private, he would take them away and lock them inside, walk with them in quiet places. Only very rarely did he allow anyone, even his son, to catch these emotions on display, and Steve saw them all now as they flitted across his father's features, each trying to take hold as he struggled to order his thoughts. In that moment Steve knew that his father remembered everything that had happened. Their eyes locked again.  
  
"I'm sorry," Mark said softly, "I. . ." Tears welled, "she. . . made me leave you." The pain was clear. "You were. . . I shouldn't have. . ."  
  
"It's OK," Steve replied firmly, "You didn't have a choice." Steve did not need to hear his father fill in the details to know that that was true. There was utter conviction in his tone.  
  
Mark was about to respond but his protest died on his lips as Steve's knees began to buckle and he lurched forward, catching himself on the side of the bed, he let out a groan as pain receptors sparked in angry protest at being treated so carelessly.  
  
"Steve," Mark's concerned shout, escaped as he caught his son, realising he did not have the strength or position, to do anything more than steady him, he helped as Steve shakily turned himself to rest on the edge of the bed.  
  
"I'm OK," Steve said, betrayed by the weakness in his voice and the tremors in his muscles as the fire in his shoulder intensified.  
  
Mark studied him, noticing for the first time the heavy bandaging that looped over one shoulder and covered his back, he berated himself for being so wrapped up in his own emotions that he had not checked on Steve first. After all, the last time he had seen him he had been close to death. He realised with a start that he didn't even know how long ago that had been. He followed the pieces of tubing that led from Steve's chest to the chest drain and the still attached IV line, took in how pale Steve's skin still looked and the thin sheen of sweat that had broken out from even the small exertion of standing for a few minutes, and concluded that it had not been long. Certainly not long enough for Steve to be out of bed. "Come on," he said, only partially succeeding in keeping reproval from his tone. "You need to get back into bed."  
  
Steve did not protest, the room was beginning to spin and the pain in his back was making any movement, even breathing a trial. He managed a small nod as Mark stood and helped to support his weight across the few feet to his bed.  
  
Mark helped to get Steve settled, watching him carefully as he sank gratefully back onto the raised pillows. He reached across for the call button to summon a nurse but Steve's hand stopped him.  
  
"No," he said.  
  
"Steve, you need. . . " Mark began, he could tell by the strain around Steve's eyes that the pain was bad.  
  
Steve gripped his hand again. "I know, I just want another minute." Steve knew that summoning the nurse would bring drugs, and with them relief from the pain, but those same drugs would also rob him of his consciousness and he wasn't yet ready to surrender to sleep, would not be, until he was sure that his father was going to be all right.  
  
Mark let his hand drop, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. "How long?" he asked quietly.  
  
"You were missing for 24 hours." Steve replied.  
  
Mark's mind flashed back to how he had found Steve, that was only one day ago. A familiar mixture of frustration and admiration struck him, as he realised that Steve had ignored his own injuries to help him back from his nightmare. He paused for a moment, staring at the far wall, still gripping Steve's hand, tacitly acknowledging, as ever, the need for some form of physical contact to quell the demons of trauma.  
  
"She said she'd shoot you if I didn't go with her."  
  
"I figured it was something like that."  
  
"You were dying."  
  
"I know," a small pause, "It's OK."  
  
"She made me walk away."  
  
"I know," pause, "it's OK."  
  
"I couldn't help you. . I could see. ." Mark faltered as the raw emotion hung in the air. "Forgive me."  
  
"There's nothing to forgive," Steve said softly. "You kept me safe in the only way you could."  
  
Steve watched as his father sat motionless for a few moments more, still staring at the far wall. The silence stretched as Mark fought the lingering feelings of inadequacy and guilt, taking little comfort from Steve's words. He had not kept him safe, he had almost lost him, the emotions accompanying that knowledge were going to take time to work through. Logically he knew now, as he had then, that he did not have a choice, but that did not seem to lessen the emotional fallout of what he had been forced to do. Nor did Steve's obvious unshakeable belief in him, somehow that made him feel even more like he had failed.  
  
The pragmatic side of Mark's brain allowed the introspection for only a little longer. He recognised his own residual weariness from the drugs that he had been given, but, more importantly, Steve needed something to relieve the pain. He turned to look at his son letting out a breath. "We both need to get some rest," he said, reaching for the call button.  
  
--  
  
Amanda sat in the ER treatment room, silently keeping vigil as she watched her bruised and battered friend sleep. Jesse had been conscious for little of the time since they had brought him in, and that in itself was worrying, as they tested for complications from the head injuries he had received. Although none of the blows to the head had individually been too severe, the combination over such a short time period could easily have life threatening consequences. He would need careful monitoring for the next few days.  
  
In the times he had been conscious, he had seemed completely disoriented and confused, although no one was sure whether that was due to the concussion, shock or the emotional trauma of the situation he was in. Most likely a combination of the three.  
  
They were waiting to take him to surgery to remove the metal from his leg and, although all but emergency operations had been cancelled due to the limitations on the two remaining OR's, it was taking some time for one to clear. So Amanda sat and waited, in an emergency room that was looking increasingly like a police precinct as officers checked everyone in and out. She had taken on the responsibility of monitoring his vitals, checking his pupils and waking him at regular intervals, a task that could easily have been left to one of the nurses, but Amanda was reluctant to leave his side.  
  
She had never seen him so dazed and confused. When awake, his already boyish features took on a compelling vulnerability, like that of a lost and frightened child, and, in a way, that was a fitting analogy, the best way to describe his psyche at that moment was 'lost', as a plethora of negative stimuli vied to keep it that way.  
  
She knew that Mark and Steve needed her too, but knew that they would understand why she had not returned. She was fairly confident that they would provide support for each other and right now Jesse needed her more.  
  
Jesse was finding it nearly impossible to sort his thoughts and emotions, as a combination of nightmares and remembered images fuelled his confusion and distorted his reality. Little had made sense apart from a deep sensation of fear and despair, but this time as he forced open reluctant eyes, he at least recognised his surroundings. He soaked up the sight of the ER treatment room and anchored himself on it's normality. The place he worked every day was comfortingly familiar. He wasn't sure how he had ended up here, still couldn't focus on the memories, but he knew that for the moment he was safe, he let go of a little of the fear, as he noticed for the first time that he was not alone.  
  
"Amanda," he said softly.  
  
Concerned brown eyes turned to meet his. "Jess," Amanda couldn't help breaking into a smile as she saw some of the life and intelligence return to Jesse's eyes, the very fact that he recognised her was major progress. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Jesse took a moment to consider the question and wished he hadn't. There wasn't a square inch of his body that wasn't radiating some sort of pain, even his hair seemed to hurt, but the worst of it was coming from his leg. "Like someone bounced me down a few flights of stairs," he replied, wincing and shifting his position slightly so that he could see the leg more clearly. He looked up from the wound, not needing to word his next question.  
  
"You were in an explosion," Amanda explained, she had been kept up to date on the current findings by Nathan, who had been reluctantly persuaded to stay and get his own injuries treated. "You went with Nathan to arrest Bilson, but he clearly had other ideas. Either he already had the place boobytrapped or he was attempting to set one up as the police arrived, either way it backfired because it looks like he blew himself up in the process."  
  
Jesse's mind flashed to images of Steve and Mark in an explosion, his heartrate increasing as part of his mind told him once again that they had been killed. "Steve? Mark? They were. . ."  
  
Amanda caught the change instantly. "They're both fine, they're upstairs. That explosion happened yesterday." She explained calmly. "You were there yesterday and in another explosion today, remember?"  
  
Jesse concentrated, using what Amanda was telling him to sort some of the confusion. Another memory returned. "Nathan?" He asked.  
  
"Is fine too, in fact he'll probably be in later to thank you for saving his life."  
  
But Jesse wasn't really listening as his mind flashed to Steve's bloodied form in the parking lot. He looked at her, "Steve was hurt, there was blood?"  
  
The next few minutes were taken with Amanda helping him order his memories as they returned in brief snatches She patiently helped him sort the chronology of events, doing her best to be quietly reassuring as he relived the traumas, even her own brush with death. Finally he looked at her.  
  
"We'll get through this," she said with conviction.  
  
Jesse wasn't so sure, so much damage had been done already. "Not until we catch her," he said with equal conviction. "No one is safe until we catch her."  
  
--  
  
Paul Bilson looked from his image in the mirror to the photographic still on the TV accompanying the news report about his demise, and marveled at how different he looked, he doubted that his own mother would recognise him, between the change of hair style and colour, the fake tan and make-up that had darkened his skin, and the coloured contact lenses, he was having a hard time accepting his own reflection.  
  
Hands snaked around his neck as a face appeared nestling into his shoulder staring at his reflection. "You look good."  
  
Bilson moved his arm to wrap around his lover, turning into her and pulling her around. "Thanks to you," he stated as he leant forward for a passionate kiss before turning once more to stare at the reflection of the 'new' him. Their cheeks still touched as she also turned to the mirror, their eyes meeting through the reflection.  
  
"So what's it feel like to be dead?" She asked, smiling  
  
"You tell me. You've had more practice at it." Bilson replied.  
  
A finger on his chin gently turned his head, "Oh I think you'll enjoy it," she said, her hand brushing through his hair as she pulled him into another passionate kiss that lasted longer than the first, Bilson's hands were beginning to wonder as their bodies pushed closer in the embrace. After a minute or so, she pulled her head back and stared into his eyes, enjoying the obsessive passion she saw there. "Soon we'll be free to start again."  
  
Bilson kissed her forehead, "Why didn't you kill him in the alley," he asked. his breath heavy with desire.  
  
She pulled back once again, brushed the now blond hair from over his eye. "Patience my love," she said, pulling his arms around her she turned her back to him, resting her head on his chest as she once again met his gaze in the mirror. "I went through three years of Hell before you found me." Her eyes defocused for a moment. "He said he loved me, said that he would protect me." Her voice took on a venomous tone, "and then he lied about me." She pulled Bilson's arms more tightly around her, leaned further into the embrace, asking for and receiving comfort in the touch. "Him and his friends, they all lied about me." Her gaze was back, holding contact with that of his image, fired with hatred. "He hasn't suffered enough, not yet." There was a pause as she reached up to run her hand down the side of Bilson's cheek. "But soon."  
  
--  
  
Jesse stumbled down the alley, his thoughts confused his mind numb, he knew that he was in danger, but couldn't pin down the source. He moved forward as quickly as he could, there were footsteps behind him now. He could hear them. He knew that he should keep moving, that stopping to look behind would further slow his already tortuous pace, but the compulsion was too strong. He turned, shocked by the sight he tumbled backwards, falling. . .  
  
Falling.  
  
His muscles jerked in response, as his whole body reacted to the sensation, he woke in a sweat, taking a deep breath to calm his thoughts as the last of his missing memories dropped into place.  
  
"Jess?" Amanda questioned, alarmed by the sudden increase in his heartrate, he had only drifted off to sleep a few minutes earlier.  
  
"It was her," he said taking a deep breath and swallowing. "In the alley today. She was there" The last words were almost whispered in disbelief. His heart was still pounding rapidly, her image seemed burned on his retina.  
  
"Who?" Amanda asked, moving closer.  
  
"My God, Steve was right," he stated, the anguish clear as his eyes met hers, "it was Chloe Marsden."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED. . . . 


	16. The Eye of The Storm

Part 16 The Eye of The Storm.  
  
"An explosion," Steve repeated Amanda's words slowly, not that he hadn't expected more tragedy, the fact that Amanda hadn't returned the previous evening had alerted him that there was something else wrong, but he had existed for most of the previous day in an emotional bubble that contained only himself and his father. It was as if the rest of the world hadn't existed, and now, it seemed strange to be told of things that had happened in it. Strange to realise that things had continued outside the world of his hospital room, but of course they had, and reconciling that fact with his own perceptions gave everything a surreal quality.  
  
She turned to meet Steve's gaze nodding, "It seems Jesse realised that it could be a trap and tried to warn them but he was too late to save anyone but Nathan."  
  
Both men reacted to that  
  
"Jesse was there?" from Steve.  
  
"Was he hurt?" from Mark  
  
Amanda realised the mistake in her narration slightly before the men reacted, she had meant to break the news about Jesse's injuries to them a little more gently, but Steve had asked about Nathan's arrest of Bilson, and she had launched into a description of what had happened, tiredness making her answer without thinking.  
  
When Jesse had finally been taken to the OR, the previous evening, she had come to check on Steve and Mark but they had both been sleeping, Mark succumbing to the lingering effects of the tranquilising drugs he had been given, Steve reacting to the physical and emotional strain he had put his system under, and there was nothing that would have possessed her to disturb them, all explanations could wait until morning. So she reassured herself that her three friends were all comfortable and out of any immediate danger and then attempted to get some sleep herself, although that had been easier said than done.  
  
She sighed and rubbed her stiff neck and shoulder as she began to fill them in on the rest of the story as it had been told to her by Nathan, finishing with a detailed breakdown of Jesse's injuries and the treatment he had received. "When I got the page to say that he had been brought in," she looked directly at Steve. "I didn't want to worry you," she turned to Mark. "And you were still asleep, I didn't get chance to come back up until much later. He. . . " She hesitated before continuing, "he needed me."  
  
Mark nodded his understanding, although she hadn't voiced her concerns about Jesse's emotional state, all of them had seen the damage that was being done with each successive incident.  
  
"Of course I needn't have described all that to you, I could have just let you read chapter 11" Amanda allowed an uncharacteristic bitterness into her tone.  
  
"The killer has added another chapter?" Steve asked, shifting slightly.  
  
"Yes," Amanda opened the folded sheets of printout in her hand, "Apart from the odd small alteration in the earlier parts, this is the first section that has been substantially written by her."  
  
"So she's broken the pattern?" Steve asked  
  
Amanda nodded, "In more ways than one, it wasn't posted until late last night, long after the explosion happened. . . "  
  
"And all of the other chapters have been posted a few minutes before the cliffhanger events occurred," Steve completed.  
  
Amanda nodded again. "Which makes the police think that the explosion wasn't supposed to go off then."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Well according to forensics, it looks like Bilson mistakenly blew himself up in trying to set a trap for the police, it seems like he was right on top of the bomb when it went off, and if things didn't go as planned. . . ."  
  
. . . It would explain the delay in posting the chapter, it would have needed a rewrite." Mark put his hand out, "Could I see those?" he asked, indicating the sheets in Amanda's hand. She moved to pass them across. "How accurate are the descriptions," he asked.  
  
"According to Nathan, she must have been nearby and watched the whole thing happen, her account includes too many details for her to have made it up and. . ." Amanda hesitated again, "Jesse thinks he saw her."  
  
Again there was an immediate reaction from both men.  
  
"How sure was he?" From Mark  
  
"How did he know it was her?" From Steve.  
  
"Well he isn't real sure about anything, and, given the state of shock he was in at the time, I'm not sure how reliable anything he says is," she swallowed, "at one point he was convinced that we had all been killed," she paused to allow them to absorb the statement. "But. . ." she continued, and again there was a slight hesitancy as she decided how to word her next comment. "He seems fairly convinced that the killer followed him into the alley, and that it was Chloe Marsden."  
  
There was silence in the room as father and son considered the possible implications of the statement.  
  
"He may just have thought he saw her." Steve suggested, "my mentioning her must have brought back memories of that whole incident, and, like you say, he was fairly dazed."  
  
Mark nodded. "Possibly, but there's also the possibility that he did really see her." He looked back at Amanda. "Has there been an autopsy on Bilson yet?"  
  
Amanda shook her head. "They barely managed to scrape up enough pieces of the body to make it worthwhile, as I said, he was right on top of the bomb when it blew and it took out half a block. At the moment he's being identified by a ring he always wore," she looked at Steve, "He had it on when you arrested him. They've brought what they've got to my lab I'm going to go see what I can do when I've finished here."  
  
Both Mark and Steve allowed a slight grimace at the thought, dealing with bodies was never pleasant but in these circumstances it was a particularly gruesome task.  
  
"I should also be getting the autopsy report on Chloe Marsden, maybe that will help answer some questions."  
  
"Like whether I'm seeing things or not."  
  
None of the three people in the room had time to school their shocked expressions as they turned to see Jesse at the door. He pretended not to notice as he moved his attention to the crutches he was using to keep the weight off his injured leg, he moved into the room and headed for the chair that sat opposite the beds in one corner.  
  
"Jess. . . " Mark began.  
  
"Yes I know," Jesse interrupted. "I shouldn't be out of bed." He turned and lowered himself gingerly into the chair, keeping his injured leg straight.  
  
"Then why are you?" Mark asked reasonably.  
  
Jesse considered his answer for a moment. Although he had been told that Steve and Mark were both all right and he knew that Amanda had spent time with him in the ER, he still could not shake the overwhelming feelings of loss from the previous day. Lying in bed the insecurities had simply grown to the point that he could not lie there any longer, he had to see them, had to hear their voices. He looked up at the concerned faces of the people he had come to regard as family and knew that he could not put his emotions into words, not without falling apart. So he had to cover, he shrugged, only half forcing the grin that accompanied his comments. "What can I say, doctors make lousy patients." There was a slight pause before he changed the topic back to the one they had been discussing. "So what do you guys think, did I see her or am I going a little crazy here?"  
  
If anyone was surprised by the directness of the question, they did not show it. "Hey you've always been a little crazy," Steve returned the grin, "So how would we tell?"  
  
Jesse truly appreciated the lightness of the comment it was just what he needed, his own grin widened a little.  
  
"Besides," Steve continued becoming a little more serious, "at this stage I don't think we can rule anything out, there are just too many coincidences. Like you say, maybe the autopsy report will help clear things up."  
  
"Well, I guess that's my cue to go pick it up," Amanda said standing. "I'll let you all know as soon as I have anything."  
  
Steve and Jesse watched her leave but Mark's attention was focussed on the young doctor. He waited until Jesse turned to face him before putting on his best mock authoritative tone. "I'm assuming Dr. Taylor knows nothing about you being up and around."  
  
"Nothing," Jesse admitted  
  
"You know as Chief of Internal Medicine, I'd really like to know how you managed to get hold of those crutches without your doctor knowing about it." It was a good act but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his intent, as he knew it would.  
  
Jesse played up to it. "I'm afraid I cannot reveal my sources, I cannot betray any part of the hospital escape committee," he stated, attempting to be earnest, as a grin still escaped, "but you should be grateful for that since your son is the president."  
  
"Hey," Steve feigned indignation, "I thought you weren't going to betray any part of the committee."  
  
"Oops!"  
  
Mark couldn't help it he laughed. "You do realise that you'll end up with a reputation as a difficult patient?"  
  
"That's OK I've got a long way to go before I rival Steve's."  
  
"Hey," this time Steve's indignation wasn't entirely fake, as he rose to the bait. "I am not difficult I. . ."  
  
"Not difficult. . ." Jesse echoed, interrupting. "Let's see there was that time that you walked out with second degree burns and a concussion."  
  
"That was because. . ."  
  
"And then the time you walked out of here having been hit by a car. If I remember you had fractured ribs. . ." Mark continued.  
  
Steve turned to look at his father "But you know that was when. . ."  
  
"And I remember repairing your knee once only to have you trying to stand on it a few hours later. . ."  
  
Steve turned back to Jesse, "But I'd just witnessed. . ."  
  
"Not that you don't always think you have a good excuse," Mark picked up, "Like when you left AMA with gunshot. . "  
  
"OK, OK," Steve held his hand up in defeat. "Maybe a little difficult." He thought for a moment, "How did this get on to me anyway, I thought we were discussing Jesse being. . ."  
  
"Then there's the way your first question is always 'when can I get out of here?'" Jesse continued, ignoring Steve's protests. "Doesn't really give us doctor's the feeling of being needed."  
  
". . or appreciated." Mark agreed.  
  
Steve looked from Jesse to his father and back again, he sighed as they both finally turned to look at him. "I wonder if I could start that tunnel out of here," he grumbled good naturedly, picking up the spoon from his breakfast tray and pretending to assess it's potential as a digging implement.  
  
Mark and Jesse both laughed again, and in the shared laughter something much deeper, slipped into place, a connection that would help them deal with the pain and the fear and the guilt and anything else that was thrown at them.  
  
They spent the next half hour not discussing what had happened, not discussing their feelings, their reactions, their injuries or their pain. In fact they avoided the case and anything associated with it, they merely reminisced about good times they had had together. It was the nearest thing you could get to a wake without anyone dying, but it was what they all needed, Jesse in particular, if they were going to deal with their emotions.  
  
It was Mark who finally pulled the conversation full circle, Jesse hadn't said anything for a few minutes and it was clear from his demeanor that his thoughts had turned back to his current predicament. "You know you could be right, Jess, it could have been her."  
  
Jesse looked up and gave a half smile, wondering, not for the first time if Mark could actually read his mind, he'd only just turned his thoughts back to what he had seen, or thought he had seen, the previous day. "I know I was pretty out of it, but the more I think about it the more sure I am that it was really her." He picked absently at a loose piece of cotton on his sleeve. "If I was hallucinating from my past, then she would have looked the same as when I last saw her, three years ago, but she didn't, her hair was blonde and much shorter and her skin had a deeper tan, but it was still her, I knew it was her."  
  
"What did she do?" Mark asked.  
  
Jesse's eyes defocused as he concentrated on the memory, he looked at a point on the floor between the two beds. "She followed me into the alley, I backed away and fell and. . ." He looked up sharply. "She laughed at me." There was a mixture of confusion and fear in his expression, "She had a gun, she pointed it at me and. . ." There was another pause as he clearly searched his memory for more, finally he shook his head, "I guess I must have blacked out, the next thing I remember is someone else being there."  
  
Mark and Steve exchanged concerned glances, if Jesse's memory was accurate then it was clear that Chloe Marsden had had the perfect opportunity to finish what she had started, which meant that they had come closer than either of them had thought to losing their friend.  
  
"Damn," Jesse let the uncharacteristic curse slip from his lips as another strong memory connected in his head.  
  
"Jess?" Mark asked his concern increasing.  
  
Jesse looked up, suddenly more animated. "I need to see those personnel files again." He moved to retrieve his crutches. "I think they were still in your office. . ."  
  
"Jesse, sit down, you're in no condition to be running around the hospital," Steve said, pressing the call button, "Tell us what you need and someone will get it for you."  
  
Jesse paused in the process of reaching for the second crutch and grinned up at his friend. "I suppose we're half way there with making you into a better patient, I mean we've got you to the point where you can give good advice." He dropped the first crutch down again, pausing for effect. "Now if we could only get you to follow it."  
  
"You know Jess, if I could spare one of these pillows I'd throw it at you."  
  
The next few minutes was spent persuading the nurse who answered Steve's call first to accept that Jesse was there to stay and no amount of persuasion would get him back to his room, even if that meant signing himself out, and then explaining what it was they needed her to retrieve. Whilst they were waiting for her to return they took the opportunity to read through the sheets of chapter 11, that Amanda had left with them.  
  
Jesse was the last to complete the read, "Well that takes away any doubt in my mind that the killer was there," he said lowering the last sheet. "If I had written it myself the description would have been the same, a little less flowery, although she's made a good attempt at copying my style, but all of the details are accurate." If it had been unnerving having the killer staging the events that he had written, it was equally strange having events he had lived through written by someone else and posted as part of his story.  
  
The nurse interrupted any further comment returning with the requested files, she placed them on a table by Jesse, who thanked her and immediately picked up the first one to check. He quickly discarded it and moved on to the next.  
  
"What are you looking for? Maybe we can help." Mark offered.  
  
Jesse answered without looking up from his task. "I don't know exactly." He dropped another file to the floor. "It's something about one of the photographs. I. . . ." He broke off from what he was saying and stared at the picture in the file he was holding, unclipping it from the attached paperwork he lifted it for a closer perusal. He let out a sound halfway between a sigh and a gasp and followed it with a soft curse. "I can't believe I didn't see it before. . ."  
  
It was all Steve could do to restrain himself in the bed, but he knew that it would still take considerable effort, not to mention pain, just to stand, let alone make it across the room to Jesse's position. Mark had no injuries apart from aches and bruising to hamper him. He was across and by Jesse's side staring over his shoulder at the photograph.  
  
Steve allowed them only a moment before his impatience got the better of him. "What is it?"  
  
Jesse passed the photograph to Mark, who moved to take it to his son.  
  
"When I was looking for Chloe in these pictures yesterday, I was looking for someone who looked like she did the last time I saw her. Long dark hair, brown eyes, but now I know that she's changed her appearance."  
  
"But even with a different hair colour you still would have recognised her in a photograph." Steve reached up to accept the picture from his father, his concentration for the moment still on Jesse.  
  
"Yes, but what if we're not looking for a picture of Chloe Marsden, just someone who strongly resembles her, or at least the new improved blonde version of her. Nobody really checks these photographs too closely, they rely on other vetting procedures."  
  
Steve finally looked down at the photograph which he now held in his hand. He studied it closely. "It's not her but it could certainly pass for her," he admitted, he could now see why Jesse was getting excited, this could be the break they'd been looking for. "So who is it and where has she been working?" He asked, handing the photograph back to Mark.  
  
"Oh you're going to love this," Jesse said, "Her name's Laura Miles and for the last six months she's been working in community general's hospital security. Specifically she's been in charge of monitoring the hospitals banks of CCTV monitors."  
  
"Damn," it was Steve's turn to swear. It would certainly explain how she'd been able to watch them and monitor their movements without risking being spotted herself. "So where was she before coming here?"  
  
Jesse quickly checked back through the file. "She was working for the correctional services corporation in Arizona ."  
  
"And how much would you like to bet that they run the Broadbent institute, where Chloe Marsden was being held?" Mark asked.  
  
"No bet from me," Steve said, "of course we're still making one important assumption here."  
  
"That Chloe Marsden is still alive," Jesse supplied.  
  
"I think it's about time I give Amanda a call," Mark said, picking up the phone. "See if she has anything for us."  
  
"And I'll see if I can get a background check on Ms Laura Miles," Steve agreed, calling for the police guard on the door to relay his request.  
  
Thirty minutes later they had been joined by Amanda and Nathan, and an irate Dr. Taylor had agreed to do the rest of his rounds first, before returning to check on his 'most difficult patients.' They had secured his agreement by all agreeing to cooperate fully when he returned.  
  
"OK, according to the report," Amanda, opened up the file on her lap, "Chloe committed suicide in a very unusual way. She is supposed to have doused herself in paint thinner, smuggled out of an art class and set it alight. The body was extremely badly burned, she was identified from dental records and, since she was alone in her room after lock up, there was no real investigation."  
  
"Laura Miles, resigned from her position as a security officer on the same day that the 'suicide' occurred," Nathan filled in. "It seems she was involved in a long running dispute with one of the hospital porters and no one was really surprised to see her go. No prizes for guessing the name of the porter."  
  
"Paul Bilson," Jesse stated.  
  
"One and the same," Nathan nodded, "He resigned a week later, probably waited around just long enough not to arouse suspicion and then left."  
  
"So I did see her then?" Instinct and logic told Jesse that the question was redundant, he now knew the answer, but he still needed confirmation from the others.  
  
Everyone nodded. "There's not much doubt that it is her Jess," Mark stated recognising the need for the affirmation.  
  
"Laura Miles was due on shift this morning but she called in Sick," Nathan said, flicking the page in his notebook. "I've put out an APB with both the picture of her and of Chloe Marsden and I've sent officers out to her address." He paused for a moment, allowing a flash of memory to pass. "Along with the bomb squad this time, although if Bilson is dead that shouldn't be necessary, but after yesterday we're taking no chances."  
  
"If. . ." Steve picked up.  
  
"There wasn't enough of the body retrieved from Bilson's apartment to give a positive ID," Amanda answered. "All I can tell you is that the body was male and he had the same blood group as Bilson."  
  
"Then they both could still be out there." Jesse stated.  
  
"And still probably one step ahead of us." Mark tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. They now knew who was doing this but he doubted that that would help them to catch her.  
  
--  
  
Afternoon passed to early evening with little progress except to confirm, by interviews with her coworkers and comparison of the photographs of the two women, that Chloe Marsden had indeed assumed the identity of Laura Miles. There was no one at the apartment, and all indications were that she hadn't been back there since the day before the attacks began.  
  
There was however, one interesting but disturbing find, copies of hundreds of hours of security tapes of Jesse taken from the ER and around the hospital, logged and catalogued. There were detailed itineraries of his day and of who he met and the patients he treated, everything that had been caught on camera seemed to be there. For Nathan, it gave a whole new dimension to the idea of stalking someone, and he knew it would be a while before he could ignore the proliferation of CCTV cameras, that he knew filmed him wherever he went, in the same oblivious fashion that he had done up to that point. The concept of 'Big Brother' had merely been something he'd had to write about for a book report in high school, but for the first time he recognised that the technology was now there and in the wrong hands that concept could become a reality.  
  
Steve, despite his best efforts to avoid it, spent most of the afternoon asleep, still weakened from the knife wound and the associated blood loss, the events of the morning had exhausted him. In the meantime Mark had been discharged, apart from some residual bruising from the explosion, he was fine, the drugs seemed to have cleared his system and being up and around was the best thing for him. Jesse had been transferred into Mark's recently vacated bed, ostensibly to reduce the number of police guards needed, but realistically Dr. Taylor knew that he would find his way back into the room anyway, even if his bed was officially somewhere else, and he saw no reason to try to swim against the tide. At least this way he could hopefully keep track of the pair of them.  
  
Mark came back into the room just as they were finishing dinner. "Hi dad," Steve said, trying to hide his relief at his father's presence. After what had happened it was going to take a while to shake the uneasiness he felt whenever his father wasn't physically in the room. He knew it was an over reaction, knew that Nathan had detailed someone to stay close to Mark at all times until Chloe was caught, but still the niggling fear was there.  
  
"Hi, how are you feeling?" Mark asked, keeping his own concerns controlled.  
  
"Well enough to eat his own dinner and most of mine," Jesse stated.  
  
"Hey, you didn't want it," Steve said defensively  
  
Jesse merely shook his head. "No one in their right mind would."  
  
Steve wasn't listening to the jibe, he was too busy studying his father's expression. "I recognise that look," he said with a hint of accusation. "What have you got?"  
  
Mark smiled, he was obviously becoming predictable. "Well it's a long shot but I think I have an idea as to how we can set Miss Marsden up."  
  
Steve glanced across at Jesse before looking back. "We're listening."  
  
"Well you remember last time we caught her because she repeated her pattern." Both men nodded grimly at the memory of what they had had to do. "Well I'm banking on the fact that her psychology hasn't changed too much, she didn't see the set up last time because she was following her own delusional view of reality. This time her view of reality is linked to Jesse's story, so strongly that she has to 'fix' things when they don't fit into what the story says." He looked at his son. "You noticed that when you worked out how to find me. So far she's either had to change the story around, or make things happen so that everything fits with what has been posted."  
  
"So, how does that help us?" Jesse asked.  
  
"Well what if you were to write a new chapter, one which would involve her going somewhere specific. Somewhere we could be waiting for her. If you posted it and then we blocked her access to the account so that she couldn't change it, it might force her out into the open."  
  
"But surely she wouldn't go for such an obvious set up," Steve stated.  
  
"I said it was a long shot, but I had a chat with Dr. Carter this afternoon and she seems to think that there is a chance of it working, remember Chloe doesn't see reality like the rest of us, she's already taken a number of irrational risks. Besides, there's no real risk on our part, if it doesn't work we haven't lost anything." Mark looked to Jesse. "So what do you think? Are you up to writing another chapter?"  
  
Jesse thought for a moment, he hadn't really considered writing since the whole nightmare began. Now that he did, part of him wanted to scream that he would never write again, that he couldn't even contemplate it after what had happened, but he could see the logic of Mark's suggestion. He looked up, his emotions still warring over the decision. "I'll try," he said quietly.  
  
--  
  
Jesse stared at the screen on the borrowed laptop, he had made it as far as typing 'Chapter 12.' That had been a couple of hours ago and still the rest of the screen was blank. He looked over at Steve's sleeping form and lamented the fact that he no longer had the excuse of talking to his friend as a distraction from the fact that he did not know what to write. The frustrating part was that he knew what he wanted to say, knew what he wanted to happen, he just couldn't get the wording right in his head to even make a start. He let out a deep sigh and stared once again at the blank screen. This must be what they meant by 'writer's block.' 


	17. Come into my lair,' said the spider to t...

Author's note:- Ok here is what I think will be the penultimate part- hope you like it. Judith  
  
Part 17 'Come Into My Lair Said The Spider To The Fly'  
  
Mark stood, shaking his head, "It's no good Jess. . ." He would have continued but Jesse interrupted.  
  
"I know it's not up to the standard of the earlier stuff," the dejection was clear in Jesse's tone. "I tried to get the wording right but. . ." he trailed off not sure how to express his own insecurities about what he had written.  
  
It took Mark a moment to review what he had said and interpret Jesse's response. "No, Jess," he shook his head again, suddenly reminded of his young friend's fragile emotional state. "It's very well written, it's just that. . ." He looked down at the computer in his hands. "It's not what I meant you to write. . . We can't use. ." It was his turn to find choosing his words difficult. "You just can't do it."  
  
"What?" Steve asked, frustrated, it was the second time that he felt out of the loop because he was not mobile enough to get out of bed to look at something for himself. He pointed to the computer Mark had been reading from. "What's wrong with it?"  
  
Mark obligingly stood and handed Steve the computer. "You'd better read it for yourself."  
  
Steve was aware of two pairs of eyes watching him and waiting, as he found his way to the beginning of the chapter and began to read. It was the middle of the fourth side when he jerked his head up to look at his young friend. "No Jess, you can't."  
  
Mark had known Steve's response would be the same as his own. "I never meant for you to write anything that would involve placing yourself in danger."  
  
Steve wasn't so subtle. "You'll have to rewrite that part," he stated firmly. "Use some other reason to get her to the park that doesn't involve you, it's too dangerous."  
  
Jesse shook his head. "She's crazy, but she's not that crazy," he switched his attention between father and son, reading the concern from each as he tried to outline his reasoning. "If we are going to get her to walk into a trap then she has to have a powerful enough incentive." He paused for a moment. "The bait has to be right or there's no chance that she'll go for it."  
  
"Not when you're the bait." Steve's tone spoke of exasperation. "If that is the only way then we'll find some other method of catching her."  
  
"Steve's right," Mark agreed, "There must be another way of doing this."  
  
"Before anyone else gets hurt?" Jesse asked, "because she needs to be stopped quickly, before she has the chance to take any more lives." He paused to allow them to consider the question, before adding quietly, "I don't think there is any choice here, I think this is our best shot and we've got to take it."  
  
Mark and Steve looked at each other, their expressions clearly conveying that, however much they didn't like it, they had to agree with the reasoning.  
  
Steve still wasn't happy, part of the relationship, the friendship they shared, had always cast him in the role of big brother, and as such he had a fiercely protective streak which was going into overdrive now. Jesse had been through so much in the last few days and Steve wanted more than anything just to lock him out of harms way. "Then let me do it. Put Detective Steve Slade at the meeting in the park and she can come after me."  
  
Jesse shook his head and smiled at his friend, it was good to have people so close that they would volunteer to put themselves in danger in order to protect you. "She wouldn't go for it, her grudge is with me remember? Besides, Dr. Taylor only removed your chest drain this morning and that knife wound is too severe for you to be up and around yet."  
  
"You're injured too," Steve countered.  
  
"The wound on my leg is healing nicely and, as a doctor, I can tell you it will heal all the quicker if I start to put some weight on it. Besides, I can always use crutches. I'm a past master on those. In fact if they ever put crutch racing into the Olympics I'd be a prime candidate for team America." The last comment was meant to restore a little levity into the conversation, but neither Mark nor Steve showed any amusement, the topic of discussion was too serious.  
  
"Then at least relocate the meeting to somewhere where there will be more people around." Mark suggested. "That area of the park will be virtually empty around that time of the afternoon."  
  
Jesse turned to Mark. "I know, that's why I chose it, Chloe has already shown that she doesn't care how many people she has to hurt to get at me. I can't risk any innocent bystanders getting caught up in this." He met Mark's gaze steadily. "Look, I've examined this from every angle and I know all of the risks I'll be taking and I'm not too happy about them myself. If I could come up with a better plan then I would, but we need to act soon." He looked appealingly at each of his friends in turn. "It's been nearly two days since she posted the last part and we have no idea what she may do next."  
  
Once again Steve and Mark exchanged glances that conveyed both their frustration and acceptance. Steve sighed. "You'll need to call Nathan and Captain Newman," he said resignedly, "We'll need his approval to get this up and running."  
  
Mark nodded, a part of him regretting having come up with the idea, whilst another part of him acknowledged the need to end this. "I'll go make the calls."  
  
--  
  
The huge gray white preponderance of concrete blocks sat forlornly on the edge of Southside park. Graffiti adorned it's once gleaming white walls, sharp edges had been chipped away to reveal jagged gray beneath, as time and weather had taken their toll. The once proud architectural work of art, donated in a civic ceremony to the people of Los Angeles in a blaze of publicity, had long since been forgotten. Instead of being a focus for people to admire, it had become a carbuncle to be avoided, making this section of the park a no go area even in daylight. Only the poor, the homeless, the drugtakers had any use for it now, as a shelter from the wind, a place to hide from prying eyes in the many narrow gaps between the blocks. It had finally been scheduled for demolition and the notices proclaiming its fate only added to the air of lost hope that surrounded it.  
  
Jesse had chosen it because he knew that there were many places where backup could be concealed, without the risk of being spotted, the maze of narrow passages was perfect. Police had been positioned there out of sight, and at all of the entrances to the park from the moment his new chapter had been posted at around three o'clock. He had been quite specific about the time of the meeting, 5pm, but they had taken no chances at being spotted taking up their positions.  
  
Jesse had only been there for twenty minutes, he had taken a cab alone from the hospital, just in case she was still watching him, and had arrived at ten to five. Walking from the nearest entrance had been the most dangerous time, the time it was most difficult to cover him, and the slow pace he had had to take because of his heavy limp had made that time seem to drag out to forever. Everyone had breathed a huge sigh of relief when he had made it to the sculpture without incident. He now stood leaning against the middle block, using it to take the weight off his injured leg. He looked at his watch for the fiftieth time and drew in a sharp breath as he realised that she was now at least ten minutes late. "I don't think she's coming," he said, loudly enough for the wire he was wearing to pick up.  
  
Mark was sitting in the control truck by the nearest gate and indicated to the officer sitting next to him that he'd like to reply. "Give it a chance, Jess. She may only just have read the story. We have to give it time." He understood the frustration that Jesse was feeling and empathised. Each second that ticked past without an appearance from Chloe took them that much nearer to failure. He tried to keep his own frustration out of his tone.  
  
Jesse looked up at the fading afternoon sunlight, incongruous with both his mood and the wretched sculpture behind him. He did his best to keep a reign on his anxiety, but as time passed he could not help but confront the prospect of coming face to face with his tormentor, both past and present. Old nightmares had returned to haunt him, they mixed flawlessly with the new ones and broke through his careful control. Each time someone appeared in the distance his heart leapt into his throat and his stomach dived into his abdomen stretching out his insides. As the figures got closer and he realised that it was not her, the anxiety turned to disappointment, his insides contorted to a different yet equally uncomfortable position and he was left to draw in a deep breath and start the whole process again.  
  
He knew that he was well protected, and had to fight the temptation to look toward the concealed positions of the officers behind him. Similarly it was difficult to resist the temptation to search the treeline for the hidden cameras that he knew had been placed there, even though he knew that they would be too small to see. He sighed again and checked his watch 5.15pm. He shifted his position to relieve the pressure from the bruising on his back whilst still trying to keep the weight off his injured leg. He tried not to wince as he did not entirely succeed.  
  
"Hang in there Jess," Mark said into his headset, trying to be as encouraging as possible as he watched his friend on the bank of screens in front of him. "If it's going to happen at all it will happen soon."  
  
--  
  
Steve was trying to control his own brand of frustration as he leaned back onto his pillows and tried desperately not to feel helpless. His strength was returning a little at a time but it was not keeping pace with his restlessness. The fact that he knew that Jesse was walking into a potentially dangerous situation, and he could do nothing but lie there and wait for news, was not helping his mood. He flicked the TV off, even if there had been something he wanted to watch, he would not have the necessary concentration, so he wasn't even sure why he'd bothered flicking through the channels.  
  
Nurse Michael Collins stopped at the door to get his ID checked. He was having a difficult time maintaining his cheery facade, when all he wanted to do was crawl into a dark space and cry. His girlfriend had been murdered, he'd managed to get himself involved in an assault and been arrested, and everywhere he looked there were police or security to remind him. He had considered not coming in to work but there were an equal number of reminders at home, Ellen had virtually moved in with him and he had been preparing to propose to her. At least at work he had things to occupy his mind and keep him from descending into total melancholy.  
  
Despite his mood he did his best to force a smile as he breezed into the patient's room. "OK so whose lucky turn is it to go to physio. . ." the rest of the question trailed off as he met the slightly surprised gaze of Lieutenant Steve Sloan. "Oh!" he exclaimed, bewildered. Not quite sure what to do as he once again faced the officer who had arrested him, the man whose friend he had attacked. He was ashamed of his behaviour towards Dr. Travis, the unfocussed anger about what had happened had made him behave irrationally and he had been goaded by Bilson into taking part, but he knew that it was still no excuse. His face flushed. "I'm sorry," he said hesitantly. "They didn't tell me it was you. Just to collect the patient in room 317 and take him to physiotherapy." He paused, clearly flustered. "I can get someone else to take you if you'd like."  
  
Steve considered for a moment, he hadn't expected to be going to physiotherapy, Dr. Taylor hadn't mentioned anything about it, on the other hand it would occupy the time and anything that increased his ability to move around at the moment would be a blessing. "No, it's OK," he said, beginning to adjust his position, "You can take me."  
  
He had no qualms about going with Collins. Everything in the man's background check had been clear and Collins had come across as genuinely remorseful about his part in the attack on Jesse. He was clearly grief stricken by the loss of the woman he loved, and, although he did not approve, Steve could at least understand his motives for threatening Jesse. He was also fairly sure that Collins wold have tried to stop it from going too far.  
  
The police guard accompanied them to the elevator and they stepped in. In the back corner a doctor stood discussing a patient's chart with a nurse, his back was to them and all they could see of the nurse was the edge of her uniform, not that any of the three of them gave them a second glance as the elevator doors closed.  
  
--  
  
Jesse didn't want to admit it but he was getting tired, the tension of waiting had drained what little reserves of strength that he had. His leg was also starting to throb with a constant ache and focussing his mind away from the pain was becoming increasingly difficult. "Trust me to set up a meet at a place with no seats," he muttered into the wire, not expecting a response. He checked his watch. It was now 6 p.m. "She's not coming is she?"  
  
There was a delay of about a minute before Mark replied. "I've just been talking to Captain Newman, he thinks we should call it off for today, but he's given the go ahead for us to try one more time tomorrow. After all we don't even know if she's read it yet."  
  
Jesse sighed, a combination of dejection and tiredness colouring his voice as he replied. "OK I'll make my way back to the gate," he said, pushing himself away from the wall and beginning the slow shuffle along the path.  
  
Mark watched his friend, injury notwithstanding, Jesse walked like a man three times his age, the stoop of his shoulders, the slow deliberate pace, all spoke of the despondency that had been clear in his tone. He tried to think of something encouraging to say but his own mood precluded it. It had always been a long shot, but even so, he had been sure that Chloe would try something.  
  
The buzz of activity around him reminded him that she still might as the team of officers in the park began the task of covering Jesse's movement until he was safely in the taxi. He was just as vulnerable now as he had been on the way in, and everyone had moved to full alert as they watched and waited.  
  
Once again there was a collective sigh of relief as the officer driving the cab confirmed that Jesse had been safely picked up. Newman gave the order for everyone to remain in position for another half hour before dispersing, just in case they were being watched. Then, anticipating Mark's request, he detailed an officer to drive him back to the hospital.  
  
--  
  
The first indication Steve had that anything was wrong were the simultaneous grunts of pain from the side and behind him. He turned just in time to see the officer go down and caught Collin's descent to the floor behind him in his peripheral vision. It happened so quickly he barely had time to process what was happening. "What the. . .?" The half formed question left his lips as he looked up at the doctor who was still standing, except it wasn't a doctor, it was Paul Bilson, blond, darker skin, the wrong eye colour, but it was him. Steve didn't have time to react further as the blood soaked knife was dropped to the floor to be replaced by a gun in Bilson's hand. A hand came from behind and ripped out his IV line causing a shooting pain up his arm. He tried to turn to see who his other assailant was but his movement was still restricted by his injury. Not that he couldn't make an informed guess.  
  
"Assume the position," Bilson said, gesturing with his gun before starting to manhandle Steve out of the wheelchair when he wasn't quick enough.  
  
Steve felt the gun pressing into his ribs and so did his best to comply, as his mind desperately tried to keep up with the shocking turn of events. He could hear groaning from one of the fallen men and knew that they were both hurt, but there was nothing he could do. He lifted his arms as high as he could, resting them against the wall, his feet slightly apart. He could feel Bilson's hot breath on his neck as he moved in closer, the gun still pressing into his ribs.  
  
"So how does it feel cop," Bilson said, his voice dripping with contempt, as he moved to speak only a few inches from Steve's ear "The tables are turned now. Tell me how you like being pushed around, having a gun pointed at you." The gun was shoved sharply into Steve's ribs.  
  
"What do you and your girlfriend want, Bilson?" Steve ground the question out through clenched teeth. Anger and fear fought for control as he tried to reign in his emotions so that he did not do something that would get him killed.  
  
"Well that's a simple enough question," Bilson replied, "at the moment, we want you." He handed the gun to Chloe. "Cover him."  
  
Steve turned his head and got his first glimpse of Chloe Marsden in three years. He would have been equally shocked by her change of appearance if he had not already heard Jesse's description and seen the photographs of the woman she had replaced.  
  
He did not have long to study her before Bilson grabbed both his arms and pulled them roughly behind him. He knew that if his system had not already been flooded with drugs from the recently removed IV, he would probably have passed out from the pain. As it was, it was enough to drag his focus from everything as he drew in a sharp breath. He felt the cuffs lock around his wrist and winced again when they were pressed closed too tightly. He was then turned to face the door and he realised for the first time that the elevator had been stopped, as Bilson reached across and hit the button to resume its ascent.  
  
The police guard groaned as Chloe stepped over him and Steve's anger flared. "Why did you hurt them there was no need.. ."  
  
He didn't get any further as Bilson landed a blow to his abdomen, and he doubled over. Bilson grabbed his hair and pulled his head back to meet his gaze. "Why don't you follow the advice you gave me, and use your right to remain silent."  
  
Chloe stepped forward and ran her hand down Bilson's cheek. "Oh come now I'm sure we can satisfy the good Lieutenant's curiosity. You see," she turned to look at Steve, "whilst the medical staff are busy saving their lives." She pointed to the men on the floor. "It will give us time to escape."  
  
--  
  
The patrol car carrying Mark pulled into the hospital lot coming to a stop on the no parking drop off in front of the double doors. Mark was surprised to see Jesse waiting for him with Nathan, he had expected the young doctor to be resting somewhere, the wait in the park had taken so much out of him. Curiosity piqued, he could barely wait for the patrol car to pull up before he climbed out, his first thought was that there had been some sort of break in the case. He hoped that it was good news, after all they had been through they needed some, but that hope died before he pushed himself to his full height. There was something about the atmosphere, a pervading almost tangible air of distress, that would have alerted him that something was wrong even if he had not seen Jesse and Nathan's expressions. They both held concern, so something was clearly wrong, but there was more, there was sympathy, sympathy for him, and that could mean only one thing. . .  
  
Mark looked Jesse in the eye, tears forming in his own as he tried to ask the question that he did not want to ask, sure that he did not want to know the answer. There was a slight hesitation and then the words poured out. "What's happened Jess? Is it Steve? Is he all right? Is he alive?"  
  
Several more patrol cars drew into sight and Mark was aware of the flashing lights on the edge of his vision, some part of his mind acknowledged the hum of engines and screech of tyres, both further reinforced the now almost panicked response as he waited for Jesse to answer. What in reality was only a couple of seconds seemed to stretch into hours as Mark tried desperately to prepare himself for that answer.  
  
"She's taken him," Jesse stated, knowing there was no way to soften the blow.  
  
Mark stared at him, he let out a long slow breath, his shoulders sagging in relief, he had been so sure that Jesse was going to tell him that Steve was dead, that any alternative was a relief. "When?" He managed to ask.  
  
"About half an hour ago," Nathan replied, stepping forward. "I'm sorry Mark, she took advantage of the fact that we had pulled a lot of the officers off so they could cover the park."  
  
Mark nodded slowly, the whole operation in the park was part of his idea, he cursed himself, he had clearly underestimated her, and as a result she now had Steve. "How?" He asked, quietly.  
  
"She called through a request for him to be taken to physiotherapy. When they got on the elevator, the nurse and the guard with him were stabbed. They're both still in surgery, it took a while before anyone noticed Steve should have been with them."  
  
Mark nodded again. His third question was not so easy to answer. "Why?"  
  
Neither man could come up with any sort of reply, not that Mark expected them to, like so much of this case, on the surface it did not seem to make any sense. He let out another sigh and turned to leave. He needed to be alone to try to get some sort of reign on his emotions. He paused briefly, manners not allowing him to just walk away. "I'll be in my office," he said, quietly  
  
--  
  
Jesse sat alone in the doctor's lounge, the hospital was half empty and eerily quiet. The publicity surrounding the killings had resulted in patients who were able transferring to other hospitals or going home early, new admissions were virtually non-existent, leaving Community General in crisis.  
  
He stared at the mug of coffee that he held, it was his third cup in the last hour and drinking it probably wouldn't do him any good. He had only made it because fixing it had given him something to do. He didn't notice that he wasn't alone until he heard the tentative voice.  
  
"Dr. Travis?"  
  
He looked up to see nurse Johnson and forced a weary smile.  
  
"I. . .erm . . I . . ." She began hesitantly. "I just took a very strange call and I'm not sure who I'm supposed to tell, but they asked me to give you a message and so I thought. . .but maybe I should tell the detective or one of the officers because it might. . ."  
  
"What was the message?" Jesse interrupted, putting just enough authority into his voice to get the flustered young woman to answer.  
  
"She said, 'ask Dr. Travis if he's had any good reviews lately.'"  
  
Jesse waited for a moment before asking, "that was it?"  
  
"Yes, she said that and hung up." Nurse Johnson stared at him. "Should I tell the police? I mean, maybe its connected to the killings."  
  
"No," Jesse said, slightly distracted as he considered the message. He looked up and met the young nurse's gaze. "Thanks I'll let them know about it. You get back to work."  
  
She smiled at him, grateful to be absolved of the responsibility of taking further action and turned to leave, only to almost trip over one of the chairs. Jesse automatically stood to help her, wondering, not for the first time, how someone so clumsy coped with life, but she merely turned and gave him another slightly embarrassed smile before leaving. Jesse watched her go, allowing his thoughts to drift back to the message. He briefly considered telling someone about it but decided he needed to check it out himself first.  
  
It took him only a few minutes to find a computer and log himself on to the internet, a couple of minutes more to login to his e-mail account. There were a lot of reviews in his inbox, he hadn't checked it since the first murder, but he knew that the message would relate to one of the most recent. He opened the last one and read it, dismissing it when it just complimented him on an interesting plot twist. He moved on to the next.  
  
Anon. Liked the idea of getting Dr. Carter to confront his Nemesis in the park, although if I were writing it, I would have set it at night instead of during the day. The atmosphere by the sculpture would be so much more interesting at 5 a.m. I also would have had the murderer do something to ensure that the Dr. comes alone, without telling anyone. For example taking someone hostage and threatening to kill them if he doesn't. Hope you understand my point.- C  
  
Jesse read the message twice before making his decision, not that it was difficult, the message made it clear that he had no choice, one way or another this was going to end. He shut the computer down staring at the blank screen for several minutes.  
  
--  
  
Getting out of the hospital had been tricky, first he'd had to get past the policeman who was assigned to protect him. He'd managed that by slipping out of his room when the officer had gone to the men's room. Then there had been the task of getting to the park. He couldn't take a cab, there was too much of a risk that he would be seen getting into it. His own car was conspicuously parked by one of the entrances. That left Steve's truck, he knew where Steve kept his spare key in a magnetic holder under the rear wheel arch. He also knew that Steve would be annoyed with him for borrowing it without permission, but he would deal with that if it ever came up, hoping perversely that it would because if Steve was angry with him, that would mean they were both alive.  
  
He hadn't considered that driving might be difficult with his injured leg until he tried it and he found himself having to operate the brake with the wrong foot. Aside from the discomfort however, the drive passed without incident. He checked his watch as he pulled into a parking space, 4.45 a.m., he had a few minutes to prepare, he climbed out of the truck and popped the trunk.  
  
He paused by the gates of the park for the briefest of moments to consider what he was doing. Maybe he should have told someone?  
  
He dismissed the thought, he couldn't, they would have tried to stop him, and he couldn't take that risk, not even with Mark, especially not with Mark, it would have put him into an impossible position. No, this was a decision that he had had to take, a situation that he had to face alone, from the moment all of this had begun it now seemed that it had been inevitable. With that rationalisation he felt a strange calm settle over him. Intellectually he knew that he should feel the same fear, even terror that he had on his previous visit, more perhaps, earlier he had had twenty police officers whose sole job was to protect him, and now it was dark and he was alone. Earlier there had only been a chance that Chloe would show up and he would have to face her, now it was a certainty, and yet he had control, the fear was there but was tempered by determination. He took a deep breath and began to walk down the darkened path.  
  
He stopped in the same position he had earlier in the day and looked once again at his watch, it was exactly 5.00 a.m. the first gray wisps of dawn were starting to filter above the horizon.  
  
"Right on time."  
  
The softly spoken words shocked Jesse as Chloe stepped out of the gap between the blocks less than five feet from him.  
  
He tried to hide his reaction and only partially succeeded as he turned to face her. In the growing light, he could just make out the gun that was pointing at his chest.  
  
"I'm here alone," he stated, keeping his tone even. He raised his hands to waist height keeping his palms open facing down, unthreatening. "So you can let my friend go."  
  
"Oh, how sweet," Chloe smiled, "the good doctor, concerned for his friends, concerned for his patients, concerned for everyone." The smile disappeared, "Where was that concern for your lover, where was that concern when they dragged me away and locked me in a padded room."  
  
The response was almost automatic. "Chloe we were never. . ." The denial died on his lips as he saw her tense in response, her grip tightening on the gun.  
  
"You said you loved me," She said softly, bitterly.  
  
Jesse did not bother with the denial this time. "Where's Steve?" He asked.  
  
"Your friend is in good hands."  
  
"You said you wouldn't kill him if I came."  
  
Chloe stepped forward, pulling a piece of paper from her pocket, handing it to him as she moved to slowly circle him. "Do you remember this?"  
  
He slowly unfolded the sheet, it was a drawing of a hero slaying a dragon, the hero had his face, he remembered being flattered the first time he had seen it, there weren't that many people who had ever considered him a hero. Now it made his blood run cold.  
  
"We could have been so good together," the words were warm, soft, whispered into his ear from behind. Then the gun pressed into his side. "Until you betrayed me, lied about me." The softness replaced with a hissing venom. "And they stole my life from me."  
  
"I only wanted to help you," Jesse tried to placate the growing anger, remembering the mercurial changes of emotional state. "I never meant to hurt. . ."  
  
Chloe wasn't listening she backed away as Jesse now turned to face her. "No, I needed you, I thought you were special, I needed you to protect me and you betrayed me." She paused and shook her head slightly. "Well I don't need anyone anymore, I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me. I can fight my own." She raised the gun, gripping it with both hands.  
  
Jesse stepped back too, the light now strong enough to make out the madness in her eyes. "Please," he said, "You don't want to do this. I. . ."  
  
"I've been waiting three years to do this," she stated her voice suddenly calm. She pulled the trigger.  
  
Jesse felt the impact, a soft thud, a moment before his chest exploded in pain, in the same instant his world faded out, his knees folded and he crumpled to the ground, nerveless fingers losing their grip on the drawing, as the wind caught it and lifted it slightly. Then it too began a slow descent, landing a few feet away, the image landing face up, seeming to parody the fallen hero lying next to it.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED. . . 


	18. Fighting Back

Author's note:- decided not to post until I had finished this (apart from the epilogue!) but I have split it into two chapters because of the length Hope you enjoy- J  
  
Part 18 Fighting back.  
  
Mark wasn't asleep, he had made a half hearted attempt at getting some rest, lying down on the cot that Amanda had insisted be placed in his office, and pulling the blanket over him, but his mind would not shut down. He knew that he needed the rest, his tired and bruised muscles seemed to protest any movement, and there was a throbbing headache building just behind his eyes, but all he could seem to do was stare at the ceiling as his mind stubbornly refused to settle on a single train of thought or emotional state. Part of the time he worked through the clues, the images, the details of the case that he had absorbed over the last few days, trying to come up with something, anything that would give a hint of the whereabouts of his son, or even why Chloe would choose to take him. The rest of the time he repressed images of what could be happening to Steve, what may have already happened. Chloe Marsden was a cold blooded killer who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the suffering of others, and Mark found it difficult to control his fear as he tried to cling desperately to the hope that whatever she wanted him for, she needed him alive.  
  
Finally, after a particularly gruesome scenario tried to play itself out, his imagination conspiring to worsen his anxiety with 'might haves' and 'what ifs,' he decided that enough was enough and threw back the cover. Pushing himself to a standing position, he decided to go and check on Jesse, surmising that he would be having just as much difficulty sleeping.  
  
Mark nodded a greeting to the police officer who stood outside Jesse's room before cautiously pushing the door open, if Jesse had managed to drop off to sleep he didn't want to risk waking him. He stepped quietly into the dimly lit room and waited for a second for his eyesight to adjust to the contrast, before moving further inside.  
  
The second he caught sight of the empty bed his stomach did a nosedive into his abdomen. He covered the few paces to it, his eyes frantically scanning the room as he pressed his hand onto the disheveled sheets. They were cold indicating that the bed had not been occupied for some time. Even so he moved to the bathroom, just to double check that it too was empty.  
  
He stood momentarily in the bathroom door as an overwhelming dread gripped him, everything briefly ceased in a paralysis of anxiety, and then his mind was working again. There was no way that Chloe Marsden would be subtle enough to take Jesse from the room without alerting the officer on the door. Mark cursed silently to himself. Somehow Jesse had gone after Steve. . . alone.  
  
--  
  
Jesse felt his position shift, and it took all of his willpower not to react as he was virtually dropped from the fireman's carry on to the floor. He managed to stifle the grunt of pain as bruises made contact with the hard ground and his ribcage seemed to explode in reaction to the jarring, taking slow deliberate breaths, he waited for the throbbing waves of pain to pass, concentrating his hearing on the figure that had dropped him. Bilson stood over him for a few moments, and Jesse could almost feel his eyes examining him, boring into him, and he found himself holding his breath, sure that he would give away the fact that he was conscious. Just as he was about to give up his pretense, unable to hold his position, his breathing in check any longer, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps moving away, the door closed and there was a metallic click as a bolt was shoved into place.  
  
He let out a cautious sigh and tried to roll to a position where things didn't hurt as much, still keeping his eyes closed as though that would somehow help with the pain.  
  
"Jess?"  
  
There was a deep questioning concern in the voice which Jesse recognised instantly. "Steve," he replied automatically as he opened his eyes and tried to push himself to a sitting position, so that he could face the direction the voice had come from. His ribs instantly protested the movement and he gasped in pain, even as he continued to sit up determined to locate his friend. It took a moment before he could speak as he drew in more breath. "Man that hurts," he complained plaintively looking down at the floor as he finally brought himself to a sitting position.  
  
"Jess?" Steve questioned again, some relief colouring the concern this time. He had feared the worst when Jesse's limp body had been carried in and dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and although his friend was clearly hurt, the fact that he was conscious and complaining was a relatively positive sign.  
  
Jesse wasn't ready to move again just yet. He took another deep breath. Recognising the continued concern, he tried to give some reassurance. "I'm fine. . .just need . . .to catch my breath. . . .here."  
  
Steve studied his friend's pale features in the early morning light that filtered through the small windows high on the wall behind him. "You don't look fine," he said earnestly, his vision blurring slightly as he tried to focus.  
  
Jesse took one last steadying breath, before looking up at Steve for the first time. He gasped at what he saw, his own injuries suddenly of minor importance as he moved to his friend's side. "Well I'm sure I look a lot better than you," he countered, trying to keep his tone light, even as a rolling nausea assaulted his senses at the damage that had been done to his friend. Steve was propped up against the wall, his right arm resting awkwardly across his chest, obviously positioned to relieve as much of the pain from his shoulder as possible, his left arm was handcuffed to a pipe that ran the length of the room at floor level, both wrists were cut and bleeding and his face was a mess. There was a swollen cut above one eye and bruising to the cheek and jaw, the thin sweatshirt that he had been wearing in the hospital was ripped and Jesse was sure he would find evidence of more bruising underneath. "What happened?" He asked, gently turning Steve's head into the light so that he could get a better look at the cut and his eye.  
  
"Turns out Bilson really," he emphasised the word, "hates cops." He paused for a moment. "He decided to show me how he would carry out an interrogation." He took a breath and swallowed, his eyes clouding. "Only it was the kind without any questions." There was a justified bitterness in his tone, but he refused to dwell on it. "What about you?" He asked, attempting to look his friend over again, but Jesse gently pushed his head back up, still examining the damage.  
  
"Any blurred vision, loss of consciousness, dizziness?" Jesse asked ignoring Steve's question as he lifted his sweatshirt and began to probe for signs of internal injuries amongst the impressive array of bruises both new and old that mottled Steve's torso.  
  
"You didn't answer my question." Steve stated using some avoidance of his own.  
  
"In a minute," Jesse replied, his tone and expression clearly indicating that he thought his own question should take priority. ""So? any. . ."  
  
"Some."  
  
"Which?"  
  
"All three," Steve admitted reluctantly.  
  
"Nausea?"  
  
Steve nodded.  
  
"Headache?"  
  
Another nod.  
  
"OK I'll see if I can get you something for that, just give me a minute."  
  
Steve was about to point out to Jesse that they weren't at the hospital and that the utility room in which they had been locked was unlikely to carry any medical supplies when he noticed that Jesse had begun to remove his shirt, revealing the vest he was wearing, the kevlar vest he was wearing, and there was a neat hole through the shirt at chest height, a corresponding telltale ring of white underneath, showing where the bullet had entered and been stopped by the vest.  
  
"Jesse you've been shot," Steve exclaimed incredulously.  
  
"Yeah," Jesse replied, looking up from his task to meet Steve's gaze and resisting the temptation to point out that that wasn't something that you needed to be told, "And it was a lot more painful than I expected, I mean, I've seen enough injuries through one of these things." He carefully began to undo the straps on the vest, "But somehow I always thought that it hurt less than if the bullet actually penetrated, you know?"  
  
Steve shook his head, remembering having the same thought himself the first time he'd taken a hit to a vest. "Just as painful," he agreed, "Although the recovery time is a lot less."  
  
"Amen to that." Jesse looked down again to a swathe of bandages that were wrapped around his waist and began to undo them.  
  
"So how did it happen? How come you're here?" Steve asked.  
  
Jesse thought about stalling the explanation again, but one look into Steve's eyes and he knew that his friend wouldn't allow it. He sighed, deciding to start at the beginning. "Well Chloe used the set up at the park to get to you,"  
  
Steve nodded, that much he had figured out. "She took advantage of the fact that most of the cops had been pulled off the hospital detail, but I don't understand what she wanted with me," he paused "Apart from Bilson needing an extra punch bag."  
  
Jesse winced at the thought. "She needed you to get to me," he stated simply, repressing the renewed guilt he felt at the statement. "She left me a message in the reviews to the story." He watched the emotions play across Steve's face as he recited word for word the contents of the review. He hadn't even realised he'd memorised it.  
  
Steve was watching his friend equally carefully as he processed the implications. Anger warred with exasperation and frustration as he realised how Jesse had responded to the threat. "Please Jess tell me you didn't go to the park alone at 5 a.m. this morning to meet a crazed killer."  
  
Jesse had the grace to look slightly guilty. "I didn't have a choice."  
  
"At least you told someone right? My Dad? Detective Turner?. . .Amanda?"  
  
Jesse shook his head.  
  
"Jesse!!" The exasperation was now clear. "What were you thinking?"  
  
"If I'd told anyone, they would have insisted on coming, or bringing the police, and she made it clear that if I didn't come alone she'd kill you." He looked into Steve's eyes briefly before the strength of emotion made him look down again. "I couldn't risk that."  
  
Steve's anger and frustration were building now, even as he recognised the depth of friendship and self- sacrifice that had gone into that last admission, he couldn't help his own reactions. Jesse had placed himself in danger, had almost got himself killed, still might. "Of all the stupid. . . half- brained. . ."  
  
"Besides," Jesse interrupted. "I took precautions," he stated, briefly stopping the unraveling of the bandages around his waist to grab the material of the vest.  
  
"She shot you Jess, what if she had gone for a head shot, or strangulation, or used a knife or just. . ."  
  
"She didn't," Jesse stated, pausing once again from his task to look Steve in the eye. This time he did not shy away from the emotional exchange in the eye contact, somehow conveying in the shared gaze that he had known the risks and taken them anyway, that he would do the same again. He saw Steve relax slightly as some of the tension drained away from his shoulders. The anger borne of concern ebbing away as Steve recognised a mirror of his own conviction, possibly his own actions, had the situation been reversed. Jesse took advantage of the easing of tension. "And anyway that wouldn't have fitted with my plan."  
  
"You had a plan?" Steve asked sardonically, deliberately lightening his own tone, "Did that include getting yourself shot and kidnapped?"  
  
Jesse favoured him with a half grin, returning to his unraveling with renewed vigor. "Well I was hoping that she'd give me some clue as to where she was holding you and leave me behind. This was really my backup plan."  
  
Steve repeated his earlier tone, this time raising an eyebrow. "You had a backup plan?"  
  
"Yeah, I figured she was either going to try to kill me in the park or, if she didn't, then she'd bring me to you and I could help you escape."  
  
"And exactly how does getting yourself captured help. . ." Steve didn't finish the question as his attention was finally drawn to the items that Jesse was busy retrieving from the folds of bandages around his waist. "What are you doing?"  
  
Jesse finished loading the small syringe from the vial that he had pulled out from between the bandages. "I figured by the time I got to you the pain meds from the hospital would have worn off, so I brought this. Hold still," He took Steve's arm and wiped an antiseptic swab over it before administering the injection. "There that should help." He tried not to grin at the astonished look on Steve's face as he placed the syringe on the ground and proceeded to retrieve several other items.  
  
"Thanks," was all Steve could manage to say as he watched the pile grow and tried to identify them all.  
  
"I figured I couldn't bring anything too bulky or they'd get suspicious and check out the bandages, so I brought what I could," he said apologetically. "They took my cell but I did manage to bring this." Jesse held up the wire that he had been wearing earlier.  
  
"Jess that thing only has a range of half a mile at most. . ."  
  
"I know that's why I brought this too." He held up a small black box.  
  
"How did you. . ." Steve began to ask.  
  
"Hey, some people's dads teach them baseball, others football, mine shows me how to remove tracking devices from police vehicles. Who knew it would actually be useful to have a father who was a spy."  
  
Steve looked at his friend with renewed admiration, impressed by his resourcefulness if still slightly exasperated by his willingness to walk into such a dangerous situation. However light the banter became it couldn't fully cover the fear that they still both might die here. "Still, that's only any use if someone looks for my truck and realises that the tracking device isn't on it anymore."  
  
"Oh, I think your dad will find it, I left it at the park."  
  
"You drove my truck?" Steve responded with an automatic protectiveness.  
  
Jesse grinned at the reaction, the normalcy of the response helping to draw him away from his own fears. He knew that if he stopped to consider the real shape that they were in, particularly Steve, and the chances of any escape attempt succeeding, then the hopelessness would probably overwhelm him. So he pushed it back under the optimism. This was going to work. It had to work. "Don't worry I was real careful with it."  
  
"I suppose it's too much to hope that you left my dad some kind of note so he'd know where to look."  
  
Jesse shook his head, "Couldn't risk him finding it before I met with Chloe. Don't worry he'll figure it out." The latter was added with utter conviction.  
  
Steve gave his head a slight shake and shifted position. He shared Jesse's faith in his father's reasoning abilities but the time frame worried him. Mark may not even know that Jesse was missing yet, and he knew that he couldn't count on Chloe leaving them alone for too long. Now that she had what she wanted, there was no reason to keep either of them alive, unless she intended to torture them before killing them, he shuddered at the thought. "So what have you got that can help us get out of here?"  
  
--  
  
It didn't take Mark long to wake up everyone involved in the case and get them to the hospital. Jesse's disappearance renewed the urgency that had pervaded the investigation in the hours after Steve's abduction, but was fading as time passed with no results. Many officers had worked late into the night running down any possible lead on Chloe's whereabouts.  
  
Jesse's movements from the night before were relatively easy to trace, since he had been under police guard the whole time, but since the officers had always respected his privacy and remained outside the rooms he was in, it took a little longer to establish the details of his conversation with nurse Johnson and consequently what he had accessed on the computer. Reading the review left Mark in no doubt as to what the young doctor had done and so, within an hour of finding Jesse's bed empty, he found himself standing once more near the entrance to Southside park, staring at his son's truck as a forensic team began to sweep the vehicle for clues.  
  
He stood for a moment and drew in a deep breath as he waited for news from the team that had entered the park. He tried hard to cling onto the hope that they would find Jesse alive and well, knowing that at best they would find nothing. If Chloe had taken Jesse there was a chance that he was still alive, that they would be able to find him and Steve before she had a chance to. . .He cut off his own train of thought, knowing that he could not allow his mind any speculation if he was going to maintain control. He had to stick to the facts, examine the evidence, it was the only way to survive until they were both found.  
  
He wasn't sure how long he stood before Nathan moved up beside him. "No sign of Dr. Travis I'm afraid, but we did find this." He held up the drawing of Jesse slaying the dragon.  
  
Under other circumstances Mark might have smiled at the image. "She drew this," he stated, "Jesse told me about it when he first met her."  
  
Nathan nodded at the confirmation. "So we know they were both here. We also found a shell casing from a .38 caliber handgun but there was no blood and the vest is missing from the back of Steve's truck."  
  
There was no acknowledgement from Mark as he studied the drawing intently. "Did anyone check out her studio?" He looked up at Nathan, "The one she was working in when she was arrested?"  
  
Nathan trawled his memory. "I'm sure they have, hold on I'll check," He said taking out his cell. A hurried conversation later he had the answers. "The studio along with Chloe's other assets were frozen when she was locked up, there were no traceable relatives and she wasn't deemed competent to handle her own affairs so they were being handled on her behalf by a lawyer. Which basically meant that the studio remained empty until her death, at which point it was sold off to a developer who wants to redevelop the whole area. The place has been boarded up ever since."  
  
"Has anyone checked it?"  
  
Nathan nodded. "A couple of uniforms went out there yesterday morning, they found no signs of occupancy."  
  
"But they didn't go inside?"  
  
"No."  
  
"That's where she is," Mark stated with conviction. "That's where she's taken Steve and Jesse."  
  
Nathan studied Mark for a moment, trying to piece together himself any clues from what he knew, that would lead him to the same conclusion. "How do you know?" he asked.  
  
Mark held up the paper. "Because that's where this came from. It's got that musty smell and yellowing that you only get when paper is left for a long time, I've got papers stored in my garage with the same look, the same smell. If all of her things were left at the studio then she must have been there to get this."  
  
Nathan nodded, it made sense and they had nothing else to go on. He lifted his cell but was interrupted by one of the forensic team that had been examining Steve's truck.  
  
"Someone has removed the tracking device," the young dark haired woman stated as she gave her report. "We've got a trace running on it now, we should be able to let you know where it is in a couple of minutes."  
  
Nathan thanked her and continued with his call to get the SWAT and backup units rolling. Somehow knowing that both clues were going to lead to the same location, he only hoped that they would make it there in time.  
  
--  
  
Jesse took the small key and undid the handcuff that secured Steve's left wrist to the pipe. Despite the care that he took, the action still elicited a wince from Steve as the biting metal was pulled free from the damaged flesh. He briefly considered giving Steve more of the painkiller that he had brought, there was still some left, he had only administered enough to take the edge off the pain, but he knew that if he did it would slow Steve's reactions, and until they were out of this he could not afford to do that. Instead he took the end of the unraveled bandage and prepared to place a dressing around Steve's wrist.  
  
Steve pulled his hand away. "Sorry Jess, we haven't got time for that, the only thing we have on our side is the element of surprise. We have to be ready the next time Bilson or Chloe opens that door." He nodded across at it, waiting for a moment for Jesse to acknowledge his statement.  
  
Jesse followed his gaze to the door, turning his head to look at it, and for a fleeting moment the fear broke through, his skin tightened, his stomach somersaulted and he was sure that he was going to be sick, barely holding down the bile as it burnt the back of his throat. The next time that door opened it promised certain death, and they only had the slimmest of chances of avoiding it.  
  
"Jess?" Steve asked in concern as Jesse seemed to remain frozen in place.  
  
Steve's voice broke the spell as Jesse forced the fear back down. He turned to his friend letting the bandage drop. "OK what do we need to do?"  
  
Steve held out his hand. "Well I could use a hand getting up."  
  
Jesse had half expected something more complicated, "That I can do," he said, Shifting his position and gripping Steve's hand in his, he braced himself as Steve used a combination of his support and the wall to push himself to a shaky stand.  
  
It took every ounce of determination to complete even that simple maneuver. Steve had to force unwilling muscles to cooperate as he gritted his teeth against the pain, grateful for the effects of the medication Jesse had given him. Finally standing, he drew in a deep breath and waited for trembling muscles to stabilize and for the room to stop spinning, forced to acknowledge his own limitations as his body betrayed him with its weakness.  
  
Jesse watched him, every instinct he had as a doctor made him want to ask Steve to lie down again, to rest, but he knew that that wasn't an option, so he contented himself with monitoring Steve's colour, his breathing. Steve shifted his position and Jesse noticed for the first time a crimson smear against the stark white paint. He followed the trail down and saw the stain behind where Steve had been sitting and he let out a soft curse as he moved closer to his friend. "Steve could you just let me get a look at your back," he said, turning his friend as he spoke. Steve did not resist as he leant his side into the wall.  
  
The blood had soaked through the bandage and the sweatshirt, the knife wound clearly bleeding again, and Jesse knew that there was nothing he could do about it, not at the moment. Even removing the bandage to see how badly the stitches had been torn would take time they didn't have. Damn this was hard, seeing his friend like this, hurting, being able to do nothing to help, and, more than that, needing him to keep going despite his injuries, their only chance of staying alive. At least the bandage was providing some pressure on the wound, and, from what he could see, the blood loss wasn't life threatening, not yet. "When did this start bleeding again," he asked softly.  
  
Steve turned to look at Jesse, he knew that there was nothing he could do, wanted him to know that it was all right. "I think when Bilson, finally threw me in here," he stated, "He was pretty rough and I landed on my shoulder, I don't remember much after that I guess I passed out."  
  
Jesse nodded, "Well I'm going to have to take a look at it when we get out of here."  
  
Steve smiled at the optimism of the comment. "Speaking of which we'd better get ready."  
  
--  
  
Mark gripped the door of the police car as it swerved around the traffic on the freeway. Over the years he had had occasion to take several high speed rides with lights and sirens, mainly in ambulances, accompanying crews to emergencies, but occasionally in police vehicles, and the uncomfortable sensations were always the same. Being thrown around at high speed, whilst your insides struggled to keep up, and your brain tried to decipher signals that evolution had ill prepared it for, usually left him struggling hard to hold on to whatever meal he had last eaten, but that wasn't a problem today. His insides had tied themselves in knots long before the journey began. Fear and anxiety, his almost constant companions for the last two days now, were still conspiring to rob him of his focus and destroy any hope that he tried to cling to.  
  
He forced his mind into a steady mantra, repeating a silent prayer over and over. The images that had plagued him during the night, conspiring on the edge of his consciousness to push their way into his thoughts, gathering with them new and ever more gruesome companions as, in each, he always arrived too late to save his friend, too late to save his son.  
  
"How far?" He asked through dry lips, his voice cracking slightly.  
  
"We should be there in five minutes," Nathan answered immediately, he'd just been doing the mental calculation himself. There was now no doubt that they were heading to the right location, Steve's tracking beacon had confirmed it. He risked a glance at the doctor beside him, not that he needed to, to gauge how the older man was feeling, his emotions pervaded the air around him. "Don't worry we'll get them out," he said, forcing confidence into his tone.  
  
--  
  
Steve walked slowly across to take up position by the door, his balance and strength improving with each step. He turned and leaned against the lintel and looked down at the Swiss army knife that was now open in his hand. As a weapon it wasn't much, but it was better than no weapon at all. In a straight fight, he wasn't sure that he would win against Chloe at the moment, let alone Bilson, so he needed every advantage he could. If he used it right, the small knife would at the very least make them wary of coming straight for him. Not that that would matter if he didn't manage to disarm them with his first attempt, he doubted that he would get a second.  
  
He looked up at Jesse, "I need you to get back on the floor, roughly where Bilson left you."  
  
"But I can help. . ." Jesse began to protest.  
  
Steve shook his head interrupting. "No, our only hope is for me to disarm whoever comes through the door, and to do that they're going to have to come into the room. If they open the door and see no one it will put them on their guard. Surprise is our only chance."  
  
Jesse thought for a moment before replying. "They still might spot the fact that you're missing."  
  
"That's why I need you to draw their attention, groan or something, anything to get them to look at you."  
  
Jesse thought again and then nodded. "OK." He started to turn.  
  
"Jess?"  
  
He turned back to meet Steve's gaze.  
  
"If I manage to take them down, you should try to get out of here, bring back help."  
  
Jesse held the eye contact, he didn't bother protesting, he simply asked. "If the situation were reversed, would you leave me?"  
  
The reply was an infinitesimal shake of the head, that Jesse was sure Steve didn't even know he had made. The answer never in doubt Jesse allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he moved to take up his position on the floor, and tried to prepare himself for what was to come.  
  
The waiting was like torture for both men, had they been healthy it would have been bad enough, but in their current condition every movement caused shooting pains, as new and old injuries protested. Remaining still was not an option either, throbbing cramps and awful stiffness accompanied any attempts to remain motionless. Pain demanded their attention and wore away at their defenses, each passing second building the tension and exhausting their resolve.  
  
Steve could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead as the seconds stretched to minutes and nothing happened, no one came for them. Idly he wondered how long he would be able to maintain his position, knowing that as time passed he would grow gradually weaker, he could already feel the effects of the blood loss on his only partially recovered system. The shot that Jesse had given him would also wear off with time, the pain was at barely manageable levels now. He looked down at his friend, at least he had persuaded Jesse to lie down, take the weight off his injured leg. If nothing else he hoped that Jesse would make it. He looked back at the door willing it to open, needing something to happen soon.  
  
The click as the bolt was drawn back made both men jump. For a split second their gazes locked, a thousand words of mutual hope and understanding conveyed in the short glance before each refocused on the task at hand.  
  
Steve finally allowed the fear through his careful defenses, holding it, embracing it, as he channeled its effects. He felt the accompanying flood of adrenaline hit his system, as his heartrate kicked up and his senses cleared. He was aware of Jesse beginning to move on the floor, rolling to his side and groaning as the door was pulled open, and then his entire focus was on the gun hand which moved through the opening at about waist height beside him. He held his breath and waited, a little further was all he needed. The world seemed to slow down and he was sure that the gun and the hand that held it would retreat again before he had his chance, and then it was moving forward and Steve felt himself move too as he brought the knife down and slashed across the arm.  
  
Bilson screeched in pain as the knife blade cut into him, reflexively opening his hand the gun flew out of it and skittered across the floor disappearing under a cupboard on the far side of the room.  
  
Jesse had pulled himself to a sitting position and watched it with dismay, realising that it would take time to retrieve. Ignoring it as a lost cause, he looked up in time to watch Bilson stagger back, gripping the back of his arm as blood started to appear between his fingers. Then his eyes were drawn to the figure behind Bilson, Chloe stood motionless an expression of shock on her face. He caught the moment at which her expression changed, hardening into one of hatred as she realised what Steve had done and she began to move. Ignoring everything else Jesse scrambled to his feet, he knew that he had to get to Chloe before she had a chance to get a weapon.  
  
Steve pressed his advantage stepping out in front of Bilson, the small knife gripped firmly in his hand. Bilson continued to back away as the shock and pain temporarily blocked his ability to act. Steve followed him, waiting for another opening, but Bilson was beginning to recover, he eyed the knife before looking up at Steve's battered form assessing his chances of disarming the cop. It should be easy, his opponent was already injured, but there was something in the determination, the desperation of Steve's gaze that made him think again. He licked his lips and started glancing around for something to even up the fight, after all, injured or not, Steve had a weapon.  
  
Steve was gratified to see some fear in Bilson's eyes as he looked at him, as long as there was fear there, the man would not go for an all out attack, Steve knew that he would not survive that. He continued to back the man into the room, watching as he glanced about nervously, Steve saw the point at which his demeanour changed, and alarm bells sounded in his head, even as he watched his opponent take a more deliberate step backwards.  
  
Bilson reached behind him and, with a feral gleam in his eye, turned to watch for Steve's reaction as he pulled the sword free from the costume where it had been hanging.  
  
Steve looked at the long blade and down at the now pathetically small blade of his own knife and almost laughed at the contrast. It was his turn to take a step back, quickly scanning the room around him. There were various costumes, suits of metal and leather armour hanging from mannequins and draped over blocks, still here from Chloe's career as an illustrator for fantasy book covers. Seeing what he needed, he flipped the blade of the knife he was holding around and threw it straight at Bilson's chest.  
  
Jesse had made it into the room behind him, focussing on Chloe as she ran across to her desk. He took the shortest path to intercept, reaching her just as she was about to grab a second gun. He had thrown himself headlong into the run and with no way of stopping he slammed into her and they both toppled over the surface of the desk and off the other side not coming to a stop until they impacted with the wall. Jesse's chest exploded in pain with the first impact, his back taking the second with the wall. The edges of his vision turned to grey and tunneled to nothing as for a moment he could do nothing, not even breathe, and then he could control the burning protest of his lungs no longer, his chest heaved and the agony of movement swallowed every part of him, until he felt like a mass of burning jangling nerve endings, and still he had to force his chest to move, to suck in air against the pain.  
  
Bilson was forced to duck as the knife flew at him and it gave Steve time to run to the opposite side of the room, pulling his own sword from the costumed mannequin that held it. He turned to face a newly enraged Bilson who now charged forward, raising his own sword he brought it down in a screaming arc and it was all Steve could do to bring his own up to parry. Bilson pulled back as his blow was blocked and swung around again as Steve was forced to defend.  
  
Bilson was driven by anger, each time Steve managed to block one of his blows his anger increased a little and he pulled the sword round and swung blow after blow at his weakening opponent.  
  
Jesse shook his head to try to clear it, aware of a dull metal clanging sound which he could not identify, he pushed himself to a sitting position and tried to focus still blurry vision on the source of the sound. As his vision cleared his brain tried to process the slightly surreal image of Steve locked in a deadly sword fight with Bilson. Bilson was raining blow after blow at Steve who barely managed to parry each one. It didn't look like he would be able to keep it up for much longer.  
  
Jesse scanned the area around him, looking for something that he could use as a weapon to help his friend, that was when he spotted Chloe. He cursed softly under his breath. How could he have forgotten about her? She was edging across the floor on hands and knees and Jesse could see the dropped handgun less than a foot from her grasp. Adrenaline kicked in once again and he launched himself in her direction even as her grip tightened around the pistol. In horror he watched as she lifted it and aimed it at Steve.  
  
"No!" Jesse cried out as once again he slammed into Chloe's side, deflecting her arm just as she squeezed the trigger. 


	19. Rescue

Part 19 Rescue  
  
By the time Nathan's car pulled up outside the studio, there was already a gathering mass of vehicles, squad cars were busy establishing a perimeter allowing only the SWAT and command vehicles through. Nathan pulled his ID and was waved past the black and whites, pulling to a stop within sight of the boarded up building.  
  
Mark was out of the car almost before it had stopped and he stood staring at the walls of the studio, scanning for some sign, any sign of what might be happening inside, as though, if he stared at it long enough he would be able to see through the brick and concrete to the room beyond.  
  
Nathan came up beside him, concerned that the old doctor was making no attempt to take cover behind the vehicle. Although they were out of range of most handguns, they were well within range for a lot of weapons. He moved to guide Mark toward the relative safety of the rolling command post. The same vehicle that Mark had sat in the day before whilst observing their failed surveillance at the park.  
  
The sound of the gunshot rang through the air, Everyone flinched and ducked in an automatic response before their conscious minds had time to process the fact that the shot had been entirely inside the building. Regardless the police officers followed their training and all weapons were sited on the building as they took up defensive positions and waited for further orders, or for something to happen.  
  
Mark's response was very different, in his mind the shot could only signify one thing- death. Haunted by images of Steve and Jesse being shot. . . executed, in cold blood whilst he stood only yards away, he reacted in the only way that he could, he had to go to them, he had to help. Whatever the cost he could not just stand by and let it happen, he would never be able to forgive himself.  
  
It took Nathan a moment to realise what Mark was going to do, a moment more to react. "Mark, wait," he shouted as he began to move, and then he was in front of the older man, gripping his arms, holding him firmly as he stopped his run toward the door of the building. He moved his head to force Mark to look into his eyes, found and locked his gaze.  
  
"I have to get in there," Mark said, his voice cracking with the emotion, "Steve. . . Jesse. . . . We don't know what's happening, they could be. . ."  
  
"Mark," Nathan said with a calmness and authority that he did not feel. "Rushing in won't do them any good. If they are still alive it could get them killed."  
  
"If. . ." Mark repeated, but the word held utter defeat. He glanced across at the building, anguish and grief assaulting his senses in equal measure. The sound of the shot had ripped the heart out of any hope that he had been holding onto.  
  
"Come on," Nathan said encouragingly. "Let's let the SWAT guys do their job."  
  
Mark's gaze dropped to the floor and he gave a slight nod, allowing himself to be led back to the command vehicle, already mourning a loss so devastating that he knew that he would not be able to cope.  
  
--  
  
Steve felt the heat of the bullet as it whizzed past only inches from his head, but it was Jesse's anguished cry that drew his attention. He turned his head to try to catch sight of his friend, and in that moment of distraction misjudged the block to Bilson's latest blow. His own weapon made contact at the wrong angle and he did not have the force behind it to stop the downward swing of Bilson's sword, realising his error, he turned his head back in time to see the blade slice into the flesh of his shoulder.  
  
Time stopped for a moment, his brain detached from the reality of what was happening, he watched in fascination as blood began to seep out on either side of the metal. Then survival instincts kicked in as a massive adrenaline boost hit his system. If he did not act he knew that he would die. He pulled his gaze back, focussed on the sword, adjusting the grip on his own, he slid it down so that the hilt now pressed against Bilson's blade and with every ounce of strength that he possessed he pushed Bilson back, crying out with the effort.  
  
The countermove worked but not without cost. Wrong footed, Bilson was not prepared for an attack, the push knocking him backwards and he stumbled for several paces before he could finally regain his balance. The direction of the force however, meant that Bilson's blade was dragged sideways tearing painfully through flesh before finally coming free.  
  
Steve backed cautiously away, a rolling wave of nausea and pain threatening to bring him down, even as he fought for control.  
  
Jesse was locked in a deadly struggle of his own. Chloe had managed to maintain her grip on the weapon this time, and she had almost managed to point it at him before he could stop her. Now they both had a hold on the gun, gripped precariously between them as they rolled on the floor fighting for control. His entire world now focussed on the gun, the trigger, he had to gain control, failure was not an option. He ignored the screaming pain from his chest, the protest of aching muscles, he had to get the gun.  
  
Steve stood, his shoulders hunched, the end of his sword trailing on the floor and eyed his opponent warily. His defense had drained his last reserves of strength, blood was dripping from the fingers of his now completely useless right hand, and he knew that the fight was all but over. Realistically all Bilson had to do was stand and wait, but Steve knew that he would not do that, he was sadistic enough to want to strike the killing blow. Steve mentally squared his shoulders, the physical act was beyond him, preparing himself for the inevitable. Whatever happened though, he wasn't going to make it easy.  
  
--  
  
"I think I have something," the technician said, directing his comment at Nathan. "I'm picking up sound on the same frequency as the wire we gave to Dr. Travis.  
  
Nathan looked across. "Put it on speaker."  
  
The technician obliged, turning up the volume so that the faint grunts could be clearly heard. "Sounds like a struggle of some sort," he stated.  
  
Mark listened to the sounds, his sharp mind engaging despite the shroud of emotion that wrapped itself around his thoughts. A struggle meant that there was someone other than Chloe and Bilson left alive. He concentrated, trying to make sense of what thy were hearing, as a little hope resurfaced.  
  
The second gunshot rang out in glorious amplified stereo from the speakers of the van, simultaneously echoing from the building. The technician pulled off the earphones he had been wearing, wincing in pain, as those around him automatically started at the sharp report.  
  
"Oh God!" Mark let the exclamation leave his lips, even as those around him scrambled to take action. He looked back across at the building as the brief resurgence of hope was once again buried under an avalanche of negative emotion. Once more the only thing that the bullet could signify in his mind was death, the death of those closest to him. He watched with growing despair as members of the SWAT team moved in, keeping low as they ran before dropping into position either side of the doors and windows. He knew only too well the significance of their actions. If they were preparing to storm the place, then it meant that those in charge believed that there was little left to lose.  
  
--  
  
It took several seconds before Jesse registered the sound and connected it with the gun that he still gripped, several more for him to process the implications and realise that he could feel no new sources of pain. He opened eyes that he hadn't even realised were closed and stared at the face that was only inches from his own. The shocked expression and empty staring gaze told him all that he needed to know, and he swallowed back the bile that accompanied the realisation that Chloe Marsden was dead. His were the only hands now gripping the gun, as he pulled back and rolled onto his knees. Still staring at the lifeless form in front of him.  
  
Bilson had been poised to make his final move when the gunshot drew his attention. He turned his head, his expression changing to horror and rage as he realised whom the bullet had hit.  
  
Steve watched, sure that in his rage Bilson would now turn his attack towards Jesse. He prepared himself to intercede, to use anything he had left to prevent that from happening, but then Bilson just seemed to dissolve, the sword dropping from his hand, he took slow awkward steps forward. His head beginning to shake from side to side in disbelief. "No, no, no. . ." he began to repeat softly, as he dropped to his knees by Chloe's corpse and gently scooped her into his arms.  
  
Jesse stared at him for a moment, bewildered. He looked across at Steve and saw the same bewildered expression on his face, before turning to watch Bilson again. He had dropped his thuggish persona completely. Suddenly it was impossible to equate this grief stricken figure with the violent killer that had been attacking Steve only minutes before.  
  
With infinite care Bilson gently wiped the hair from Chloe's forehead, bringing his fingers down to close her eyes. He then placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and pulled her into a close embrace, rocking gently backwards and forwards, as his lips continued to mouth the denial. "No, no, no. . ."  
  
The sharp metallic clatter of Steve's sword falling to the floor, drew Jesse's attention and his head snapped up to his friend. He was on his feet and moving even as his mind acknowledged the blood soaking down the front of Steve's shirt from his shoulder. "Steve!"  
  
--  
  
The anguished cry crackled out over the speaker, simultaneously allowing some hope to resurface and drawing Mark further into his despair. He recognised Jesse's voice instantly, the young doctor was alive, but the despair in his voice as he uttered Steve's name made Mark's blood run cold. Before anyone could stop him, he snatched up the microphone and spoke into it.  
  
"Jesse, this is Mark, can you hear me? What's happening? Is Steve all right?"  
  
--  
  
Steve staggered back to the wall, leaning heavily against it, he tried to use it's support, but it wasn't enough. His ever weakening system now had no reason to fight, as it struggled against the blood loss and injury to maintain some minimal function. His vision blurred as he tried desperately to focus on his surroundings, willing himself to concentrate against the growing burning pain that now seemed to engulf the whole of his right side.  
  
Jesse reached him just as Steve's legs gave out, barely able to stop him from pitching forward, he managed to press him back against the wall, helping to support him as he slid to the ground. He gasped at the blood loss from the new injury, and shifted his position to try to get a better look at the wound. He had forgotten completely about the wire and the tiny earpiece that he had hooked on in the utility room. When he heard Mark's voice, heard him ask in concern about his son, he thought for a moment that he was hallucinating, projecting his own concerns, but something in the insistent tones made him answer. "Mark?" He asked tentatively.  
  
"Jess, what's going on?" Mark's voice was slightly distorted by the headset.  
  
The memories slid into place and a huge surge of relief crashed through Jesse's system, Mark was on the other end of the wire, he was nearby, help was nearby. His elation was short-lived however as Steve groaned at his side, he looked down. "Mark, where are you? Get in here."  
  
Mark heard the groan and his heart skipped a beat, he forced himself to remain where he was as he asked the next question. "What's the situation?"  
  
"Chloe's dead and Bilson. . ." Jesse glanced up to check, Bilson hadn't moved from his position, still holding and rocking Chloe in his arms. "Bilson is disarmed," he stated, "but we need a paramedic unit in here now, Steve's been hurt. . .it doesn't look good."  
  
Mark did not need to hear any more. He dropped the microphone and jumped from the van, hitting the ground running. He was oblivious to Nathan ordering the SWAT team in ahead of him, oblivious to the police vehicles moving back to allow the ambulance closer to the building. His only focus was getting into the building and to his son.  
  
Jesse did his best to examine the wound, but the shoulder was a mess, fabric from Steve's sweatshirt was caught up with torn flesh as the blood flowed freely over it obscuring part of the injury. Jesse grabbed a cloak from one of the nearest mannequins and did his best to staunch the flow. "Come on Steve, stay with me," He said encouragingly as Steve fought weakly against the added pain that the pressure on the wound brought. "I need to try to stop the bleeding, Take it easy, that's it." He was gratified as Steve calmed a little. "Come on buddy, help will be here soon."  
  
Steve was finding it increasingly difficult to string thoughts together, the pain from his shoulder like a huge chasm, sucking his awareness into it, wrapping each thought with it's tendrils and dragging it away, even as he tried to fight it. Jesse was only a vague blur, his soothing words barely making sense as Steve's system weakened further. Current and past images merged as memories of the recent knife attack returned, the sensations so similar that sensory memory prevailed. He felt the cold of the concrete, the emptiness of being left alone to die, the all encompassing pain, and he struggled to move, he did not want to die here, did not want to die alone.  
  
There was soft pressure on his shoulder, someone gripping his left hand, relief washed over him, not alone then. He forced tired eyes to open, briefly gaining focus on the tear stained face above him. "Dad," he whispered softly.  
  
Mark could not help himself, he smiled through the tears. The belief that Steve was already dead, that he would never see his son again had been so real, the sense of foreboding so powerful, that despite his deep concern at his Steve's condition, he couldn't help but feel some relief. "It's OK son." The reply was barely whispered  
  
Steve struggled to draw in enough breath to speak again. "Dad, , , need you. . . Don't. . . .leave".  
  
Speech failed Mark for a moment as painful memories resurfaced, he tightened his grip on Steve's hand, and briefly glanced across at Chloe's prone form, he could feel no grief at her loss, not after what she had put them all through. "Don't worry I'm not going anywhere." He stated in a voice that trembled as he fought for emotional control.  
  
Jesse watched the exchange quietly, shifting position as the EMT's arrived, allowing them in to work.  
  
One of them went to Mark's side. "Excuse me sir but I need you to move," he said, but there was no response.  
  
Jesse grabbed the young man's arm, the paramedic looked up, slightly startled by the action, and met Jesse's gaze.  
  
"Work round him," Jesse said firmly. "They need each other at the moment."  
  
The paramedic looked back at the old doctor and down to the patient, there was something indefinable in the contact, the air heavy with emotion, and he knew that it would be pointless, would only waste time, if he tried to get the older man to move. He turned back to Jesse and nodded, shifting to a different position, he began working on Steve.  
  
Jesse stood and backed away, knowing that in his current state he was likely to be more of a hindrance than a help as they fought to stabilise his friend. He leant heavily against the wall, finally allowing his own injuries and exhaustion through, and watched as the last gasps of the drama played out in front of him.  
  
For a surreal moment, he felt as though he had melted into the fabric of the wall, becoming a silent observer..  
  
A few feet in front of him the paramedics worked on Steve, as Mark kneeling by his side gripped his hand, watching every rise and fall of his son's chest in silent vigil, grateful for the contact  
  
Over on the opposite side of the room, the armed SWAT unit had forced Bilson to kneel, his hands interlaced on the back of his head. He was still staring down at the corpse of the woman he loved, the woman he had loved enough to kill for, still rocking gently backwards and forwards. Several rifles pointed at his head in a redundant show of force..  
  
Chloe's body lay stretched out in front of him, her eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, and Jesse had to swallow down a burst of nausea at the thought that he had killed her.  
  
Ignored, as if he did not exist in the bustle of the room, Jesse felt more and more like a spectator, not a part of what had happened at all. He was watching the final chapter of the drama play out in the same way that the images formed in his head when he tried to write. He knew that he was witnessing the ending, with Chloe dead the story would be over. The thought triggered a collapse of his own system, weakened by injury and exhaustion he sank to the floor.  
  
--  
  
Jesse sat staring at the computer screen, his finger hovering over the button that would transmit his words to the internet and access to anyone who wanted to read it. Part of him had wanted to erase the whole thing, expunge it from his memory, but he knew that it would take more than the touch of a few computer keys to achieve that. A stronger part of him had wanted to finish it, the story had gone so far that it needed an ending. He needed an ending.  
  
He had started writing as soon as he had known that Steve was out of danger, fighting with pain and exhaustion he had carried on typing as though possessed, not pausing until he had finished.  
  
He clicked the mouse button, and dropped back onto his pillows in relief, now it was over.  
  
--  
  
FIN  
  
Author's note: I'd just like to thank everyone who has written a review or sent me any encouragement whilst writing this. It has made a huge difference in what has been, at times, a very difficult year. I want you to know that every single review is read and appreciated in the spirit in which it has been sent. I'd love to know what you thought of the ending and the story as a whole and thank you again for taking the time. Judith. 


	20. Epilogue

Part 20 Epilogue.  
  
Amanda moved quietly in to Jesse's room, now that he'd finally surrendered himself to sleep she did not want to risk disturbing him. She had been watching him in silence for the last half hour, standing in the doorway fascinated by the way his fingers moved across the keys. He was clearly still in a lot of pain, but had refused any medication until he had finished the task that he 'needed' to complete.  
  
She had been there for his showdown with Dr. Taylor.  
  
"Dr. Travis," Bill Taylor tried the formal address and then thought better of it, softening his tone, "Jess, you have a broken rib, and we've had to re-stitch your leg, not to mention the concussion which you've aggravated, you need to. . ."  
  
"I need to do this," Jesse stated firmly. I won't be able to. . .I can't relax. . ."  
  
"I can give you something . ." Bill tried.  
  
"No!" Jesse's retort was so uncharacteristically harsh that Bill almost flinched back from it. Jesse clenched his fists and fought against the confused mass of emotion that was trying to take control. "No," he stated more softly. "Please, the drugs won't help I just need to get these images out of my head and the only way I can do that is to write it down."  
  
There was a long pause as Bill Taylor tried to work out a response that he thought might work, but given the trauma Jesse had suffered he wasn't sure how to respond, for a moment he wished that Mark was there, under other circumstances he would have automatically called him in for a consult on a patient refusing treatment. Mark, however was otherwise occupied, refusing to leave Steve's side even for a moment, another testament to the trauma of the last few days. When Bill had tried to get him to sit and wait in the doctor's lounge as he normally did when Steve needed treatment he had raised haunted eyes, stating quietly. "I can't leave him. . . I can't leave him again." The last word was spoken with such soft poignancy that Bill hadn't been able to respond to that either. In his profession it was difficult not to become hardened to a certain extent to the tragedy and suffering of others by years of facing their trauma and pain on a daily basis, in fact it was necessary most of the time, but these personal tragedies so close to home were taking their toll. He let out a heavy sigh.  
  
Jesse looked up, he was trying hard to find a way to explain what he was feeling in a way that his friend and colleague would understand. He so desperately needed some sort of closure that he couldn't contemplate even a drug induced sleep. Not even the pain from his many injuries could convince him that Bill might be right. He met Bill's gaze, realising as he did so that there was no way to explain it, that, were there positions reversed, he wouldn't understand either. "I'll refuse treatment altogether," he said with quiet determination. "Sign myself out if I have to." It wasn't an idle threat, there was a desperation in his need to write this final chapter that would control his actions. His voice wavered slightly. "Please, I need to do this."  
  
Bill Taylor sighed again, there was nothing he could do. Even if he had the will to fight Jesse on this, and he wasn't sure that he did, he couldn't treat him without his permission and he was mobile enough to carry out his threat to leave. He took the only option that he could. "OK, I'll make sure you get a laptop for as long as you need it, but as soon as you're done, you follow my instructions for at least 48 hours and you allow me to administer any medication I see fit. Agreed?"  
  
Jesse thought for a moment. "Agreed."  
  
That had been four hours ago now, Amanda had checked back several times and Jesse had always been working, his brow furrowed partly in concentration and partly from the pain, he had never acknowledged her presence and she had stayed in the background, needing to know that he was alright but not wishing to intrude. Now as he dropped into an exhausted sleep, she finally felt able to approach. She picked up the syringe from the waiting tray and injected it into his IV line. Making a note on his chart, she looked up and watched as the deep lines were smoothed from his face, his hand slipping down away from the keyboard as his muscles relaxed.  
  
Amanda replaced the chart on its hook and moved forward to pick up and remove the laptop. She was about to shut it down when her curiosity got the better of her, moving away from the bed she sat in a chair in the corner of the room and opened the file that Jesse had been working on. She had only meant to skim through it, perhaps read a few paragraphs to see what had been so important to him, but quickly she found that she had to read every word, the emotions leapt off the page, dragged her in until she was feeling what they had felt, experiencing each heart stopping moment of the danger that they had been in. The descriptions were clear and compelling, the terror of going to the park alone to face Chloe, masked thinly by the determination to do all that he could to rescue Steve, the pain of the gunshot, the terrible journey half awake until he was finally dumped in a room, the distress at finding Steve beaten and chained to a wall, Amanda felt the tears begin to fall as she read of the strength that the two drew from each other, as they waited for the last desperate confrontation, the fear taking hold once again as they quite literally fought for their lives, and then the relief, first at Mark's voice and then at his presence as help finally arrived.  
  
She looked up and across at the bed where Jesse was now sleeping, thankful that he was safe, thankful for the strength and determination that had brought him through the last few days, and still slightly awed by his resilience. She had always known that he was strong, but he had faced things that would have made a lesser man turn and run. Another tear slipped down her cheek but this was one of pride.  
  
She stood and walked back over to his bed the computer cradled against her chest, reaching down she took his hand in hers, reassured by the warmth, she gave it a gentle squeeze. He still had trauma to face, injuries to recover from and an inquiry into his actions. She knew that his strength would carry him through but still wished that she could wipe it all away, could soothe the mental trauma in the same way that the pain medication soothed the physical trauma, but even that was only a quick fix, there was no recovery without pain.  
  
In her reading there had been one section that had been slightly stilted, the wording obviously awkward. His description of the shot that had killed Chloe and his own reaction to it had been faltering, the emotion shut off, and she knew how hard it would be for him to come to terms with that, despite everything Chloe had done to him, to all of them, taking a life would never come easily. Even Steve, who accepted it as an inevitable part of his job, and could rationalize it when others were in danger, found it difficult to process sometimes. Jesse, who was so dedicated to saving life, would find it doubly so.  
  
She gave Jesse's hand another reassuring squeeze, still not sure if it was for him or for her and wiped the tears from her face, ironically the action made more well up, a whole mixture of emotions making them threaten to fall once more, but she held them back, she needed to go and update Dr. Taylor on Jesse's condition and check on Mark, cradling the laptop tightly against her chest, she turned and walked from the room.  
  
--  
  
Steve's world drifted in fragments, contrasts, from bright shining lights and movement, to all encompassing darkness, shouts, echoes and sirens to empty silences. There was pain, constant pain, but there were also fluffy clouds that wrapped him in their warmth and carried him along, almost making him forget, he liked that, liked the soft comfort, he wanted to stay there forever, but the pain always dragged him back, ebbing and flowing like the tide, he let out soft moans that seemed somehow detached, heard a familiar voice calling his name, an insistent beeping sound drummed into his consciousness and then receded as the world floated away once more He felt like he was underwater, never quite making it back to the surface. It became almost a pattern, he lost count of the drifts just knowing that it had happened before. Each time he seemed to go deeper than the last, slipping further under, getting further away from the surface. He wasn't sure why but he knew that that wasn't good. He tried to fight his way back but he was so tired and it was so hard, but he knew it was important, so he kept fighting.  
  
Suddenly the sensations shifted, the images changed as though he had just opened his eyes, waking from a dream into a nightmare, he knew where he was, chained to a wall in a darkened room, the pain in his shoulder excruciating, only matched by the emptiness as he waited to die alone. The cold leached his strength away, the darkness carried his resolve, he was going to die here and there was nothing that he could do to save himself, nothing, but even in his hopelessness he could not give up, it was not in his nature. There had to be something. . . he looked around, desperately scanning, and then he heard the click of the door. It was too late they were coming for him and this time they would. . . .  
  
"Steve?"  
  
The familiar voice was incongruous in the empty room and he fought to make sense of it. Maybe it was his father coming though the door, he squinted at it and as he did so he forced his eyes open on light that was far to bright for where his mind had him placed, he let out a startled gasp and blinked at blurry shapes that refused to form in the painfully bright light.  
  
"Steve, can you hear me?"  
  
He turned to face the voice that he held so dear and blinked again his vision still fuzzy, his eyes unable to obey the command to focus. "Dad?"  
  
Mark smiled with relief as Steve finally spoke to him, the weariness and tension of the last two days melting away in an instant as clear blue eyes met his. He looked away briefly as he spoke to the nurse that had responded to his summons. "Get Dr. Taylor, tell him Steve's awake," he said, noticing her own smile at the news as she nodded and hurried off.  
  
"You've had us quite worried the past couple of days," he said conversationally, turning his attention back to his son. There was a slight hitch to his voice as he tried and failed to continue the illusion of nonchalance. "It's good to have you back."  
  
Steve's mind and vision were finally beginning to clear as he recognised the familiar sights of one of Community General's ICU rooms. He processed the last images of his dream, no, not a dream, they were memories. "Two days?" he asked, scanning around a little, "in ICU?"  
  
Mark nodded. "You'd lost a lot of blood, but you're going to be fine now." He did not fill in the details of just how harrowing those two days had been. The blood loss was bad enough in itself, enough to send him into shock, but following so closely to the previous near fatal episode and coupled with the massive bruising that Steve had suffered, it had led to complications that had sent him into a coma, with possible permanent damage to liver and kidneys as their function dropped and Steve almost slipped away, but he hadn't, he had fought back. "You're going to be fine." He said, repeating the words as much for his own benefit as for Steve's.  
  
Steve studied his father's face, "And you've been here all the time?" The comment was half question, half accusation. Mark didn't need to answer, the brief flash of guilt that crossed his features was enough, even without the evidence of drawn features and dark circles beneath the eyes. "Go, get some rest," Steve said, giving the hand that had slipped beneath his a quick squeeze. "You just said I'll be fine."  
  
Mark hadn't been able to leave Steve's side for more than a few minutes in all that time. The normal protective instincts that made him want to be close to his son when he was in danger had been amplified by Chloe's cruel actions. Mark had needed that physical connection to his son more than he ever had before, he needed to be there for him, however long it took, and wild horses could not have dragged him away. He returned the gentle pressure on Steve's hand. "I. . . ." he began but he could not put into words the emotions he was feeling, the reasons why he had had to stay.  
  
Steve locked and held his father's gaze, the confusion clearing, as synapses fired and thoughts connected. His father hadn't been able to leave him, had not wanted him to wake up alone, all the time in his drifting, half dream state he had known he was there. It had given him the strength to fight. A realisation slipped back into place, something that he already knew, that he had always known, something that would help banish the nightmares, instinctively he knew that it was something that Mark also needed to hear. "Wherever you are," he said quietly, "I know that you're there for me." He paused there was a tangible connection between them that went far deeper than words or a shared gaze ever could and he let that carry the emotion.  
  
"I'm never alone," he stated, the words almost a whisper, he closed his eyes and swallowed, slightly uncomfortable with the power of the sentiment. He let go of the hand that gripped his. "Now go," he said, his gravely voice sounding harsher than he meant, the few words he had spoken taking the effort of a marathon. He felt his eyes beginning to droop and fought against it, barely able to hang on to consciousness. "You need to," he yawned softly, "Get some rest." He was almost under when he dragged himself back, "I'll be fine," he half mumbled as he slipped into a peaceful sleep.  
  
Mark watched, realising that he hadn't managed a reply, his own body sagging with weariness, and relief, tears welling in his eyes. "I know son," he whispered.  
  
When Doctor Taylor arrived he was surprised to find Mark willing to leave Steve's side long enough to let him examine him. Despite Steve's much improved physical condition and the improved prognosis, he had expected the now usual discussion where he pointed out that Mark needed to take care of himself and Mark simply insisted that he could not leave Steve alone. Instead Mark volunteered to go without being asked.  
  
Mark paused by the door. "When you've finished here I've got another admission for you," he stated.  
  
Bill looked up raising one eyebrow. "Oh, who?"  
  
"Just an old Doctor suffering from exhaustion," Mark smiled a weary smile. "You should be able to find him in the doctor's lounge." He added before heading in that direction.  
  
--  
  
Mark shrugged into his white coat as he left his office, it had been two days since Steve had pulled out of the coma and he had been moved from ICU to a standard room. Mark himself had been admitted overnight and after 24 hours enforced rest with the nurses bringing him regular updates on Steve, so that he would not be tempted to go and check for himself, he had felt much better. He had taken another day before deciding that he felt up to returning to work. The hospital was still down on it's normal compliment of patients so he knew that he could ease himself gently back in. Besides, the thought of rattling around the large empty beach house on his own while both Steve and Jesse were still laid up in hospital was not something he could contemplate. He knew that he would spend most of his time at the hospital, so he might as well get some work done at the same time.  
  
"Dr. Sloan. . . Mark." The voice calling him from behind sounded slightly agitated, he turned to see Bill Taylor running towards him.  
  
He stopped and smiled. "Bill what can I. . ." but the expression on Bill's face made him stop mid sentence. His stomach turned to stone "What's wrong, is it Steve?"  
  
"Steve's fine," Bill said, allowing a moment for Mark to start breathing again, "It's Jesse, he's disappeared."  
  
--  
  
Mark pulled the car up in front of the old studio and looked up at the cracked and peeling paint that was beginning to drop in chunks from the buildings fascia, emphasizing its condemned status. He allowed a small shudder, the memories of the last time he had been here still too close to the surface. Steve had almost died here, Jesse too. He took a deep breath and headed towards the doorway, the torn dangling edges of the crime scene tape confirming that his hunch had been right. Jesse was here.  
  
He pushed the door open and entered the room, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit interior from the contrasting bright sunlight outside. Jesse was standing in the center of the room by one of the desks, his back to the door. He did not move or turn, in fact he showed no indication that he even knew Mark was there.  
  
Mark took a couple of steps forward, his eyes scanning the rest of the room before finally settling back on his friend. The last time he had been here, he hadn't really seen any of it. Steve had been his entire focus, so looking at it now was like seeing it for the first time. It was hard not to stare at the patch of blood on the floor where Steve had fallen, hard not to consider all that it represented. The balled up cloak that Jesse had used to try to stop the blood flow lay discarded a few feet away.  
  
The swords had been removed as evidence but there was still one outfit intact, its sword sheathed in it's scabbard, the hilt shining with silver and gilt decoration. Mark shivered at the idea of having to use it as a method of defense. He looked across to the door that he knew led into the utility room where Steve and Jesse had been held and curiosity almost made him walk over to look inside, but the image of what had been done to Steve was already vivid enough, he did not need for it to be reinforced.  
  
The silence lasted for several minutes. Mark waited patiently knowing that Jesse would talk when he was ready.  
  
"How did you know I'd be here?" Jesse asked, still not turning to face his friend.  
  
"Just a hunch," Mark replied, "I knew the where, I just wasn't quite sure of the why."  
  
There was another long pause and Mark wasn't sure if Jesse had picked up on the implied question. The reply was so quiet that Mark almost missed it when it finally came.  
  
"I killed two people in this room."  
  
Mark took a step forward. "Jess you didn't. . ."  
  
Jesse turned to face him. "Oh, I know that they were both accidental, that I didn't intend to or even try to, both times it was self defense, but the fact remains, it was my hand on the sword, my finger on the trigger. I killed them." He leant back against the desk behind him, resting his hands either side as his gaze dropped to the floor. "Rationally I know I didn't have a choice." He looked up to meet Mark's gaze. "So why does it hurt so much?"  
  
Mark studied him for a moment before replying. "Because you care about people, Jess, It's part of what makes you who you are."  
  
"Yeah, well I wish I didn't." Jesse's eyes dropped to the floor again.  
  
Mark took another step forward. "You don't mean that."  
  
Jesse sighed. "No, I don't. I just. . ." there was another pause as he struggled to find the words. "I just wish there was a way to make sense of all of this. I guess I just want to understand why all this happened. . . . Why me?"  
  
It was Mark's turn to sigh. There was no easy answer to that question, maybe no answer at all beyond platitudes and clichés, and they were not needed here. Mark wandered over to one of the easels that still held a beautifully coloured illustration. The figure of a bare chested hero, brandishing a sword above his head and clutching a beautiful woman in his arm, stood over the body of a demon.  
  
"She was a very talented artist," Mark stated, pulling his glasses from his top pocket to get a better look at the picture.  
  
The comment shook Jesse from his reverie and he moved over to stand beside Mark.  
  
"She was," he said, his voice soft, "All her pictures were of heroes slaying demons and monsters." He thought for a moment. "I think that the fantasy was her reality. At some point in her mind the two merged." He turned his attention from the picture to watch Mark as a slight change in posture alerted him to the fact that Mark had noticed something. He was leaning forward studying the demon more closely. Jesse returned his own attention to the picture, not sure what he was looking for.  
  
Mark's attention seemed to wander, he looked away from the picture scanning the surface of the neighbouring desk until he saw what he wanted. He moved to a pile of sketchpads scanning through them until he found the one that interested him, discarding the others. The first page held a pencil study of the hero in the painting, there was one slight difference, the hero in the study had Jesse's features. Mark turned the page, there was a similar picture, only the expression had changed slightly, it was still clearly Jesse but the features had hardened. Jesse had followed Mark, standing to one side, wordlessly Mark positioned the sketchpad between them as he turned the page to the next set of studies. This sheet had three drawings of head and shoulders, the face distorting a little more with each one, Jesse let out a gasp as he realised now what Mark had seen, he moved back to the canvas and studied the demon, before taking the sketchpad from Mark to turn the to the next page, fascinated as the transformation was completed. He looked from the pad to the painting and back again.  
  
Clear blue eyes met his as Jesse looked up at Mark. "It's me," he stated quietly, "the demon is me." He swallowed, glancing at both pictures again before looking back to his friend. "Is that what I was to her . . .a demon?"  
  
"I think it's what you came to represent. In her mind you were responsible for everything that had gone wrong for her, you caused her suffering."  
  
"That's why she had to destroy me."  
  
Mark nodded his agreement at the statement, watching silently as Jesse's attention turned back to studying the slowly morphing sketches.  
  
"She was mixed up long before you met her." Mark stated.  
  
"I know, I just wish I could have stayed like this for her." He held up the drawing of the hero. "I just wish I could have been the hero that she needed to save her."  
  
Mark shook his head, "I don't think anyone could. You can't slay demons that only exist in the mind."  
  
Jesse thought for a few moments more. Realising that he couldn't make sense of it because it did not make sense and never would. Chloe Marsden had existed in a world that he did not recognise, a world where fantasy and reality merged. However badly he might feel about being part of it, she had orchestrated her own fate and had cast him in a role that he had had no choice but to fulfill, he could have no regrets. He looked up at Mark, his thoughts shifting away from the introspection he had needed to come here for. "Is Bill really mad that I left the hospital again?"  
  
Mark allowed a small smile. "Well he has got you down as the worst patient in the history of the hospital, even beating Steve into second place." His expression became a little more serious, "but I think he's more worried about you than mad." He paused before adding. "I am too."  
  
Jesse dropped the sketchpad back onto the desk. "I think I'll be all right now," he stated, taking a deep breath. "Come on let's get back."  
  
--  
  
Steve walked into the Doctor's lounge, his shoulder still aching from the punishing workout he had just given it in his regular physio session, but it was worth it. He could feel the strength building every day now and he was close to being cleared to go back to active duty soon. He had been lucky on two counts, first, both injuries had been to his right shoulder, and, since he was left handed, he hadn't been quite as debilitated by the weakness in his arm as he would have been if the injuries had been on the other side, and secondly, the nerve damage had been minimal, meaning that he could get full function back, all it would take was time and hard work on his part, a small price to pay considering the alternatives.  
  
Still he had had to be content with working behind a desk for the last four weeks and, though he was trying hard not to let it, it was beginning to get him down. So now he was seeking out Jesse, he had some good news for him and he was hoping that delivering it would help to cheer both of them up. Jesse was only now getting back to his old irrepressible self as normality returned to the hospital and all of their lives.  
  
He walked up behind Jesse who did not seem to notice him approach, he was too focused on the screen of the laptop on the table in front of him. Curious Steve leaned in to read over his shoulder. Jesse finally noticing his presence looked up.  
  
"A review Jess," Steve said, raising his eyebrows as he read the words on the screen. 'Hilarious, funniest thing I've read in a long time.' "I thought you'd sworn off writing for good." He moved to take a seat as Jesse replied.  
  
"I did at first, but Dr. Carter thought it would be good therapy." Jesse was grinning widely, it was nice to see and Steve decided that Dr. Carter had been right. It had been a while since he had seen his friend looking this happy.  
  
"I decided to write in a completely different genre though. No more action, suspense or murder for me, I've had quite enough of that."  
  
"So what show are you writing for?"  
  
"Scrubs."  
  
"Still, sticking to what you know huh? Well from the review I just saw it definitely seems to be working"  
  
Jesse grinned again. "Yeah, it is."  
  
"So can I read it sometime?"  
  
Jesse hesitated, "I really don't think it's your sort of thing I mean, hospitals, doctors. . ."  
  
"Jess I spend half my life here or hanging out with doctors."  
  
Jesse had to concede the point. "So how's the physio going?" he asked, changing the subject.  
  
"Good, Brett seems to think that he'll sign me off in a week or two." Steve wasn't going to be distracted that easily. "But you're my doctor, so you knew that already." He pointed at the computer. "So, can I read it?"  
  
Jesse sighed, admitting defeat, "Sure." He pressed the relevant keys to get to the start of the story. "I. . .erm. . .have to get on with my rounds, I'll catch up with you later." He stood up.  
  
"Before you go I've got some news," Steve said, remembering why he'd come to find Jesse. "Paul Bilson's pleading guilty to all charges, so it won't go to trial. You won't have to testify."  
  
Jesse sat down again, allowing the relief to show on his face, since he had been cleared of culpability in the shooting of Chloe Marsden, the impending trial of Bilson had been the last dark cloud hanging over his head, he had not been looking forward to reliving the whole thing again in the witness stand. "Has he done a deal?"  
  
"No, apparently he's gone against his defense counsels recommendation, they were angling for a diminished responsibility plea. He's confessed to everything, from helping Chloe to kill and assume the identity of the security guard, Laura Miles, to planting and detonating all of the bombs. He'll most likely face the death penalty."  
  
Jesse nodded, "So it is finally all over." He met Steve's gaze, his own relief reflected there. There was a mutual connection that lasted only a moment, the relief strengthened because it was shared. Steve was the first to look away, and Jesse realised it would have been just as hard on Steve to relive the whole thing at the trial. He had spoken very little about what had happened, but Jesse knew that the experience had taken its toll. At least now they could all move on.  
  
Steve's attention had returned to the computer screen and Jesse remembered that that was his cue to make an exit before Steve got too far with the reading.  
  
"That's great news, I'll. . .er . . .get on with my rounds then," he said, backing away. "Let me know what you think."  
  
Steve watched his friend retreat through the door, putting his strange behaviour down to being nervous about letting somebody he knew read what he had written. At least that was what he thought until he started reading.  
  
--  
  
Steve almost knocked his father and Amanda down as he came round the corner of the corridor that led to Mark's office.  
  
"OK, where is he?" he asked, barely keeping a lid on his anger, "I've searched the hospital for him, so you two must be hiding him. So, where is he?"  
  
"I assume you mean Jesse?" Amanda asked.  
  
"And why would we be hiding him? What has he done?" Mark asked guilelessly.  
  
Steve eyed his father critically. "Oh, I think you know," he glanced across at Amanda, "And I think you two have been encouraging him."  
  
"With what?" Mark's expression was still the picture of innocence and Steve thought, not for the first time, that his father could have had quite a good career as an actor.  
  
"Does the name Steve Stone ring any bells, Lieutenant Steve Stone, a homicide detective?"  
  
"Oh, you mean his new story. It's very good isn't it, very funny." Amanda tried very hard to keep from smirking and almost succeeded.  
  
"It might be if the good lieutenant wasn't the butt of most of the jokes."  
  
"What's wrong with that?" Mark asked.  
  
Steve raised an eyebrow, "You don't think that the he may be based on someone you know, the name doesn't perhaps give it away."  
  
Mark was ready for this one. "As I understand it he just combined the names from one of his other favourite TV shows, 'The Streets of San Francisco' He used Mike Stone's surname and Steve Keller's first name to make Steve Stone."  
  
The comment threw Steve, giving him a moment's doubt, but it was only a moment as he recognised the twinkling in his father's eyes, he was being played with. "Hmm, so how do you explain the fact that Steve Stone's father is the Chief of Internal Medicine in the hospital? Or the fact that he loves hospital food, particularly the meatloaf?"  
  
"But Steve Stone is described as an accident prone detective who spends his entire life in the ER being treated for various injuries. Surely you don't think that's you?" Amanda asked sweetly.  
  
"Amanda," Steve smiled equally sweetly back, "I didn't say that he didn't exaggerate, just that he based the character on me, and that is why when I get hold of him, I am going to kill him." He paused trying to ignore Amanda's growing smirk. "It's bad enough that half the hospital was already laughing at the way Nurse Johnson managed to dump an entire trolley of hospital meals on me, without having my best friend plaster the incident, under the thinly disguised names of Lieutenant Stone and Nurse Bronson, all over the internet."  
  
"But he has been quite flattering, about Lieutenant Stone too." Mark said, still having much more success than Amanda at controlling his expression.  
  
"Yes," Amanda picked up, "there's the scene where all the female medical students faint when Lieutenant Stone takes off his shirt to reveal his six pack."  
  
Steve could feel himself beginning to blush, the sensation did not do a lot for his anger.  
  
"And then there's. . ." Mark began but stopped himself.  
  
"What?" Steve asked suspiciously.  
  
"Nothing, just another scene where the Lieutenant is described favourably but I don't think Jesse has posted it yet."  
  
Amanda looked at him "Have I seen it. Oh. . . I know the one you mean, the one at Nurse Bronson's apartment with. . ." But there was something in Mark's expression that made her stop. She turned back to Steve ready to change the subject, but it was too late, Steve was looking at Mark an incredulous expression on his face.  
  
"Dad, tell me you didn't tell him about the incident with the towel." Steve didn't need to wait for an answer the apology was written all over Mark's face.  
  
Steve threw up his hands in exasperation. "Oh that's just great." He looked at his father. "You do know that I won't be able to show my face around here again after that's posted."  
  
"Hey, I told you I believed that there was a perfectly innocent explanation as to how you ended up with a naked nurse in your arms and no buttons on your shirt, and I'm sure other people will believe that too." Mark managed to get to the end of the sentence before he burst out laughing, the fact that Steve was blushing again was the last straw in his efforts at self control, Amanda abandoned her attempts too and began to shake with laughter.  
  
Steve stepped back. "Don't worry, I'll get to you two," he said, "just as soon as I've dealt with Jesse." He pushed unceremoniously between them as he headed off to continue his search, trying to ignore the giggles that continued behind him.  
  
Steve allowed himself a predatory smile. He could see Jesse in the Doctor's lounge, there was only one exit and he could easily make it before Jesse could make an escape, the young doctor was trapped. He moved until he was standing in the open doorway, and was just about to close in when he noticed that Jesse was not alone, Nurse Johnson was moving towards him carrying a birthday cake with what looked to be about 50 lit candles on the top.  
  
The young nurse smiled at him. "Steve, good to see you," she said, "I'm just taking this cake to Mrs. Hiddemeyer, she's 52 today."  
  
Steve stared horrified at the burning candles. One of the scenes in Jesse's story had had Lieutenant Stone's hair accidentally set alight by the accident prone Nurse Bronson. He had not appreciated at the time the comment that the singed spiky look actually suited him better than the style he had. Now he was just horrified at the idea of life once again imitating fiction. He threw a quick, "I'll get you later," at Jesse, backing away from the rapidly approaching nurse, before turning and running. He did not get far before he heard the startled yell and turned to see the burning cake arching through the air, straight at the point where moments earlier he had been standing. Maybe he would be nice to Jesse so that he only wrote about good things happening to Lieutenant Stone. With that thought, he turned back and ran for his life.  
  
The End.  
  
Author's note:- So that's it, epilogue and all. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me, thank you for your patience and I really hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think. Judith. 


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